Nemesis
by Silver Spider
Summary: Tony Stark, of all people, was not about to get drunk on account of a woman. On any other account, for any other excuse, but not for a woman. Not again. Tony/Carol. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**_ Some very general spoilers for the latest New Ultimates #1. No idea where this is going aside from to satisfy my desire for some good old-fashioned angst. Keep in mind, I've never written anything Marvel, but hopefully something comes of it. Obviously inspired by New Ultimates. Please R&R!

**Nemesis**

**By: Silver Spider**

She'd been missing for seven months after Fury assured everyone Colonel Danvers was on an undercover mission and contact with the Triskelion was expected to be spotty. It was a load of crap, of course, since her meticulous reports arrived like clockwork once a week for the first six weeks. The general still did not acknowledge her M.I.A. status. _Official S.H.I.E.L.D. business_, he'd said. _No need to get your tights in a twist._ No one bought it, but what were they going to do?

Life went on, and Tony Stark, of all people, was not about to get drunk on account of a woman. On any other account, for any other excuse, but not for a woman. Not again.

Besides there were plenty of distractions for everyone. Fast forward after the departure of their tough-as-nails liaison and Cap, Hawkeye, and Iron Man were in Canadian air space closing in on the target. A.I.M.? The Facility? Gene Nation? One of those, anyway. Tony just knew that there was a blinking target on the view screen inside his helmet and he needed to take it out from his position on the rooftop when the signal came. Rooftop, because hulking red and gold armor was not exactly inconspicuous nor easy to get in and out of in a hurry. It was times like this that he envied his teammates who could throw on an overcoat and walk down the street in the middle of a crowded city.

Seven p.m., and he was getting damn tired of sitting on his metal ass for the fourth consecutive hour and beating himself in the game of chess going on entirely in his head. Usually he would have left by now, but he was trying to be a good boy, reliable and all that jazz. He was just about to call to find out what was happening ground-side when the blinking target suddenly changed from red to green on his view screen.

_Finally._

Tony narrowed his eyes and assessed it: a medium sized office building. The days of bad guys hanging out in abandoned warehouses were long gone. They liked to hide in plain sight now. A rundown building in a shady neighborhood looked suspicious, but no one would even blink at a boring beige office. His targeting systems made the calculations instantly. If he hit it at ground level at the right angle, the whole thing would look like a scheduled demolition which was always a nice simple cover story.

Two shots from each of the shoulder rocket launchers at either side would do the trick, and Stark sent the miniature missiles on their mile and a half long trajectory, waited for sixty seconds, then took off after them. He figured he'd arrive just in time to help Cap ad Hawkeye with the cleanup and any stranglers that were still alive.

Tony Stark never expected to see what he did when his boots touched the ground.

* * *

The twenty-first century had a disheartening effect on Steve Rogers. In a few short years after being defrosted he'd become ten times more cynical than he'd been in the war – World War II, for God's sake! But this world was not the black and white one he left behind. In fact, it was mostly black. He was grateful for almost every field assignment because sometimes Steve honestly believed duty was the only thing standing between him and a padded room.

This one was supposed to be a simple hit and run. Their stranding orders were to bring in any prisoners for questioning, but that was optional if there were no survivors. From what he could see as they neared the rubble, he and Hawkeye might as well have stayed home as Iron Man's toys made a fairly convincing pancake of the five story building. There was no sign of anyone, but a job was a job, and he began to dig taking what used to be the front while his teammate came around the back.

It was then that he heard Clint shout a profanity and for him to get over there. The urgency in his voice made Steve practically leap over the pile. The other man was leaning over someone, his back obstructing Cap's view until he was almost directly behind him.

"What's...?" the question died half-way out of his mouth. "Good God..."

It was Carol Danvers. A bleeding, barely alive... and demonstrably pregnant Carol Danvers.

Cap just stared, caught somewhere between amazement and about a million questions. Clint, thankfully, was quicker on the uptake, and after a quick assessment of the woman's obviously injuries he turned to the captain, face ashen.

"Steve... it's bad. _Very_ bad..."

_No shit._

He could not even see where all the blood was coming from. There was so much of it drenching her very civilian clothes. She tried to speak, but succeed only in bringing forth bubbles of red. The only word he thought he caught was a very faint "save". After a quick mental subtraction, Steve understood. Wordlessly he produced a stiletto and handed it to Hawkeye.

"What the hell is this for?" the other man demanded.

"Triage," he said simply. "You have better hands. Make it quick. Before Tony..."

The sound of Iron Man's thrusters reached him a split second later, and suddenly Steve had the sinking feeling he was about to loose two friends at once.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:**_ I know these parts are short, but I'm sort of just writing as it comes to me. At least the update was fast, right? ^^

* * *

He kept staring at his hands, then at Clint who sat across the plane's walkway. He was holding Danvers' baby in his now-gloveless hands which he had meticulously washed in scolding hot water. Then again, he was a pro. Tony had been expecting the infant to cry, but it was dishearteningly quiet in the cabin.

He looked back at his own cold gauntlet-clad hands, entirely unfit for holding babies. Idly, he wondered if anyone noticed the faint tremor then clenched his fists before they could. God, he needed a drink. And a suit that was easier to get in and out of, but mostly a drink.

"You haven't said two words since we took off," he raised his eyes slowly expecting to see... what? Anger? Judgment? Instead all he saw was pity which was far _far_ worse.

"Wasn't aware I had something to say."

"You haven't ask about the kid. It's a boy, by the way."

_A son... Danvers' son_, he amended quickly.

"Not exactly one of those people who gets all warm and fuzzy over babies. Especially ones so freakin' adorable."

It was the shittiest thing he could think to say. If he was not in the suit and Clint's hands were not occupied, Tony was sure he'd be looking towards the sudden stop at the end of the fall. All he saw was more of the same.

Pity.

"Go sit with her," the other man jerked his head at the far corner where the rare erratic beep of the heart monitor was the only thing that announced that the colonel was still holding on.

It had made more sense to take her with back to the Triskelion with the world's best medical facility than look for a hospital of questionable quality on the spot. No one dared to guess at the chances of either mother or child, though perhaps they were slightly higher separately. For the baby, at least. Maybe. It depended on... a lot of things.

"Because..."

"Because someone should be with her, and you're not busy."

"Untrue. I'll have you know that even as we speak, this genius brain of mine is hard at work on..."

"You can't really be this disgusting of a human being."

"Oh, this isn't even me trying. And what about her? She's the one who went AWOL because of... that," he waved a hand at the bundle in Clint's arms. "It's amazing how fast fiery patriotism turns into hypocrisy."

"We don't know what happened, and you don't really think that. Even Steve "Captain America" Rogers doesn't think that."

Actually neither of them knew what he was thinking, but it was fairly obvious he was not about to be hostile to a woman who'd just had her child cut from her body and most likely did not have much time left. He might very well have come to her defense, Tony realized. Iron Man had a sneaking suspicion that for all his loyalty to the red, white, and blue, Cap did not exactly have any reason to think America would do right by children or mothers in these situations.

He must have been quiet for too long because Clint cleared his throat insistently.

"Tony, she might not make it till landing. Go sit with her."

Just so he would not have to listen to the other man bitch at him, he rose and dragged himself and the armor to the end of the plane. He'd been fine thinking she was killed in action. They were not romantically involved – he'd tried romance ones and didn't like the outcome – and the loss of an admittedly hot and convenient bedmate was not exactly cause for waterworks. He was not even sure he would have said they were friends, and he _was_ sure he did not always like her very much apart from when she was in his bed. Soldiers died in combat all the time. It _had_ hurt though, loath as he was to admit it. One would think he should have been used to loosing people by now.

If he thought looking at her was going to be hard, it wasn't. If anything, Tony felt a cold detachment at the sight of Colonel Danvers' form covered in sheets made almost brittle by the drying blood. Her face was pale, eyes ringed by dark circles, and he made an honest attempt to find a shred of humanity within himself, to bring forth any emotion other than bitterness.

Finally Tony said the first thing that came to his mind.

"I hate you."

And suddenly the floodgates broke, and it was all too much; Danvers and the baby, all the small inconveniences – like the cancer – he'd taken in stride for years now, and the hate which was far too strong of an emotion for him to handle at the moment.

He took several large steps back away from her and replaced his helmet. The emergency hatch blew in a boom of air as the compartment suddenly depressurized.

"What are you doing?" came the startled and angry shot from Steve in the cockpit.

"Nothing you haven't done," he shouted back and disappeared into into the night.

It was not lost on him that this made him guilty of the same offenses he'd accused her of: running away and thus, hypocrisy.


	3. Chapter 3

It was cold.

The space before her eyes kept shifting back and forth between complete darkness and searing bright light. Sometimes Carol heard voices; Steve's, Clint's, a few others that sounded somewhat familiar but pointless to try to place. Once she thought she heard Tony, but it was so brief she could not be sure because her chest constricted painfully just then and any focus she had was lost.

There was not much pain, but even drifting in and out of consciousness Carol knew it was a really bad sign. Pain was a sign of healing, of survival. The numbness meant her body was not dealing with the damage: it was simply shutting down.

The voices came again, louder but less discernible than before. The light in front of her closed lids was bright again, and the air acquired an odd sort of smell. Her body felt heavy as the numbness spread, thoroughly permeating every bone and muscle.

_Too bad_, was her last, almost wistfully thought. _I would have liked to hold my baby. Just once._

* * *

When he'd first met him, Tony Stark had given Steve the impression that he was a modern-day king in a country that refused to formally acknowledge aristocracy. Key word being 'formally', because that impression was not far off the mark. In the physical sense, there were few occasions where he'd seen the man alone, he was so usually surrounded either house staff or employees and whatnot.

Of course, that was before... everything, and now more frequently than not he found his friend in his new but often empty house with a drink at his elbow. One of these days Steve would really have to say something about the alcohol, but it was not today. Today he was on a different kind of mission.

"How drunk are you?" Steve asked calmly, coming up behind him. Tony was standing by the enormous windows looking out on the reconstruction still going on in the city bellow. There was a glass in his hand, but there was no way to tell what had been in it because only the few ice cubes remained.

Tony squinted. He'd heard that question before, albeit phrased slightly differently. From who? _Jan_, he thought, but he could not be sure. Just another lost friend.

"I'm not drunk," he assured the captain. "I had a few drinks, but trust me, this isn't drunk."

"Good, because I'd like to be able to have a rational conversation with you."

"If it's about our good colonel, I don't want to hear it."

It occurred to Steve then that Tony had not said her name even once since before they found the woman. He wondered if Stark was even aware he was doing that. "Do you hate her that much?"

"Nope," Tony shook his head and shrugged, walking over to the small table where the crystal jug of scotch stood. He poured himself another glass. "I just don't care. I don't care why she went AWOL. I don't care if she lives or dies. I'm completely indifferent."

_Bull shit_, but Captain America would play along for now. "Well, this isn't about Carol. It's about your son."

Tony gave a short humorless laugh. "What makes you think he's mine? We were never exclusive. Hell, the lot of you weren't even supposed to know. Not that it matters."

"You're right: it doesn't matter. Even the _possibility_ that he's yours should have you running out of here and to Triskelion to see him."

"You're not seriously giving me parenting advice. Let's be honest: you and Clint aren't exactly qualified."

It took all Steve had not to punch him, and maybe he should have. Maybe physically beating some sense into Stark was the only way to get through to him. He tried very hard to remind himself that Tony often said things just to get under people's skin, just to get a reaction from them so they would get too angry to remember what they wanted from him. It was not going to work this time. He slowly unclenched his fists and took a steading breath.

"Carol..."

"I said I don't want to hear it."

"...is in surgery, and _your_ son shouldn't be alone."

"There are people there. Doctors and such who, I assume, know what they're doing."

"There are people around you, too," Cap countered. "People who do most of the running of your company. People who keep this place in order. People who call you a friend even when you treat them like shit. But you're always alone, anyway, aren't you? Don't do this to your son. You have a choice; he doesn't."

Tony said nothing, simply brought the glass to his lips and took a large swallow. He was not really tasting the drink; he'd stopped doing that a while back. Now it was just a matter of getting the alcohol into his system.

But a split second later the glass was on the floor, its contents soaking the plush expensive carpet. Steve garbed the smaller man by the shoulders and not-to-gently tossed Tony against the nearest wall. Before the later could orient himself, the captain's forearm pressed firmly against his throat.

"I'm trying to be reasonable with you," Steve said through gritted teeth. "But don't think I won't physically drag you there if I have to."

"Well, when you put it so nicely..." but Stark did not seem too intimidated. He looked just as he'd claimed to be: indifferent.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony strongly resented the fact that Steve apparently felt the need to walk two steps behind him all the way to the Triskelion's medical facility as if he needed to make sure he got there. Maybe he did. Tony would have liked to think he would not have turned around and bolted in the middle of the building's upper level hallway a short way away from the destination, but one never knew.

The captain only departed to talk to Fury when he pushed Stark through the doors of the ward and in front of a middle aged doctor who seemed not particularly excited about the conversation he was about to have with Stark.

"You're here. Good," the man in the white lab coat stated without preamble. "I was told that you might have more information I could use in treating Colonel Danvers' baby."

"Doubtful," Stark said flatly. "What do you want to know?"

"An estimated date of conception would be nice."

Was he serious? Was Tony really supposed to remember that? He tried to think back seven month before and come up with a reasonable estimate. There were times – many _many_ times – but the real answer depended on information he simply did not have. The only person who would have known was someone he had no desire to speak to even if she was able to do so.

"Maybe thirty-two weeks ago?" he guessed. "Thirty-three at most."

The man nodded. "That seems consistent with the weight and lung development. I would have put him at thirty-one to thirty-two. Colonel Danvers didn't know she was pregnant when she accepted her mission, did she?"

_One of the many billion dollar questions._ Tony grudgingly suspected he knew the answer but dodged. "What's thirty-one to thirty-two weeks? I mean, how bad is that?"

The doctor hesitated then sighed. "Not as bad as it would have been ten or even five years ago. I'd say we're fairly well equipped to care for him, but he'll have to stay on the ventilator for a while and in the incubator for even longer than that. We'll have to monitor closely for any complications, but it would help if he could bond with his mother. Do you know how her surgery is going?"

_No, and I don't want to know._ "You're the doc."

"I was flown in as a neonatal specialist, Mr. Stark," the man retorted somewhat abrasively, "and I've been in this room ever since."

_And I've been at home... drinking._ "I don't know what's going on with her."

"Well, for the sake of her baby, I hope she pulls through. The sooner the better."

Tony did not know what to say to that so he said nothing and instead asked what he's been pushed here to do. "Any chance I could see him?"

They walked him through the whole preparation procedure before he was allowed anywhere near the NICU, everything from that ridiculous smock and cap to sterilizing his hands. He followed all the instructions on autopilot without much thought.

"He's not going to get sick from me, is he?" Tony absently asked one of the attendees, mostly to have something to say. The nurse just gave him a sympathetic look.

"Cancer is not contagious, Mr. Stark."

"Right..." he felt like an idiot. "I knew that."

The woman patted his shoulder in understand and lead him inside, pointing out where he needed to slide his hand through and what parts of the baby he should avoid touching along the way. When he was left standing in front of the incubator, Tony took a moment to simply observe.

His son – with that shock of raven hair, there was no real doubt in Tony's mind that the child was his – reminded Stark of himself and every other person he'd ever seen undergo chemo treatment. So very pale and thin, with a sickening number of wires and tubes attached to him, the complete inverse of the image of a healthy chubby-cheeked pink newborn. With a premature and highly traumatic birth at that, he should have been dead, by all rights. _Then again_, Tony thought wryly, _kid does have two of the most stubborn people in the world for parents. Anyway, moment of truth..._ He sat down in the chair provided and reached for one of the round openings in the incubator...

...and suddenly stopped.

The tremors were back.

He thought having a few drinks would have helped with that, but his hands still felt weak and unsteady. Stark stared them again, then pushed back the chair and stormed out of the NICU in disgust, tearing off the smock and tossing it to the ground in the hallway.

He did not get far before Steve caught up with him. "How did it go?"

"Shitty," Stark retorted not bothering to turn around or slow down on his trajectory straight for the exit.

"Care to elaborate on that?"

"Not particularly."

"Tony," from the corner of his eye he could see the captain reach out to stop him, but this time Stark was faster.

"My hands are shaking!" he whirled and shouted in the other man's face. "Is this what this kid's first meeting with his dad supposed to be like? To feel my hands shaking because I drank too much?"

He seemed to have successfully shocked Captain America into silence. Finally Steve nodded solely. "Then come back in the morning. Go home and sleep it off."

"Thanks for your permission, Cap," he shot back with bitter sarcasm. He was just about to start for the door again before his path was blocked yet again, this time by a bubbly blond.

"Tony!"

Despite the popular belief that all of the other Ultimates found the Valkyrie useless and annoying, Stark did not particularly mind the girl. She'd improved over the years under Thor's tutelage, and anything she lacked in the intelligence department she made up for with her unequivocal loyalty and enthusiasm. Sometimes too much enthusiasm, but there were worse character flaws.

"Val," his dark mood thawed for a moment, and Tony actually smiled a little despite himself.

"Congratulations," she was practically bouncing as she intercepted them. "Hawkeye says he's very cute."

The smile instantly receded at that. Her comment brought the _right_ picture back to his mind. It was the sort of thing someone said on a happy occasion. The kind made from a friend to a family who'd just received the addition that made the perfect 2.5 with the white picket fence and dog a complete picture. The kind made towards a baby born normally on time in a nice clean hospital with all the benefits modern medicine offered.

In this case, everything about it sounded totally and utterly wrong.

"No, he's not," Stark's tone was blunt. "He was cut out with a knife some nine weeks too early after I nearly blew him up. So no, he's not cute. He's very sick."

The Valkyrie just stared, at a complete loss of how to respond, but Steve quickly came to her rescue throwing a hand on the other man's shoulder and squeezing tightly and rather painfully.

"You'll have to excuse Tony. He's in shock and doesn't know what he's saying," he paused for a second as if thinking about it. "And he's a jackass."


	5. Chapter 5

Her body made several attempts at waking without success. It was nearly noon of the next day by the time enough of the anesthesia wore off to actually allow her open her eyes for longer than a few seconds. A nurse was in the room at the time, checking her IV. When she noticed that Carol was awake, the woman smiled and told her to go back to sleep. There was something she'd meant to ask, something important, but whatever it was had slipped away as her body was more than happy to take that advice.

Real wakefulness came a few hours later. If she was completely honest with herself, Carol would have admitted that she was more than a little surprised to be opening her eyes at all let alone finding Captain America standing at the foot of her hospital bed and Hawkeye leaning against the windowsill, arms crossed. She looked around, still very groggy from the anesthesia, but there was no one else. Not that she was really expecting anyone...

"Colonel," Rogers saluted then inclined his head respectfully.

"Captain," she managed, though if he expected her to return the salute, he was dreaming. She might have been awake now, but her strength was not going to hold out for too long.

"The doctors said it was touch and go for a while but that you did great. How do you feel?"

"Like crap," her mouth was felt as dry as the comment.

At his place near the window, Clint chuckled. "You planning on kissing your baby with that mouth, Danvers?"

She twisted her head in his direction, and sharp motion cost her a few seconds of reorientation after a sudden dizzy spell. "Is he okay?"

If after what she'd asked of them... if she'd made the wrong choice... She should have asked about her son the instant she woke.

Luckily Clint simply nodded. "He's gotta hang out in the NICU for a while, but I'd put bets on him. That's one tough kid you got."

She released a sigh of relief and and even managed a smile. That was all she could have hoped to hear. Everything else was just details. "I want to see him."

"I don't think you're going anywhere anytime soon," Clint shook his head. "Despite Cap's unwavering optimism, you should be dead..."

"Thanks."

"...but you're not, our very own Ms Marvel, so let's keep it that way," he pushed himself away from the windowsill. "I gotta go. Wanna see if I can track down Fury so I can yell at him. Take care of yourself, Danvers."

"Bye, Clint," she wondered, as she watched the door close behind him, why everything felt so surreal until it dawned on her that this was probably the first time she'd seen the man be genuinely nice to her rather than coolly professional. Steve was polite, but then she was his superior officer... for now. And speaking of that...

"Alright," Carol sighed, half-exhaustion half-exasperation. "Let's have it. I'm sure you talked to the good general already, too."

"I did," he sounded hesitant.

"And? Did he send you to hand me my court martial or does he want that pleasure himself?" Steve looked a little hurt at the accusation, and she closed her eyes for a moment. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. Anyway, it's not like I don't deserve it."

"Want to talk about it?" he offered. "About whatever happened in Canada on your mission?"

"Not particularly. No offense, I'm grateful for everything you and Clint did, but I'm exhausted. If I can get some rest... maybe I can see my baby sooner."

"That's the spirit," Steve smiled approvingly and began towards the door before pausing. He looked like there was something else he wanted to say but was not sure if he should.

"What?" Carol asked finally, though she had a pretty good idea what he wanted.

"You haven't asked about Tony, yet."

_Here we go..._

Not that she had ever really cared if anyone on his team knew about their affair – an odd, but somehow appropriate, word to use –, at the moment, Carol wished they had been more desecrate. She knew there had been rumors but had always assumed the Ultimates did not care too much, and if S.H.I.E.L.D knew, they had not brought it up. Or maybe her superiors found it useful that she had been sharing Stark's bed. The last thought was unnerving, mostly because Carol could see it as an all-too-plausible scenario.

"Why should I be asking about him?" she gave a small, nonchalant shrug.

"Carol..."

"Until I'm officially court martialed, it's still Colonel Danvers to you, soldier, and I'll thank you to kindly butt out."

"I can't. Tony's my friend, and with all due respect, _Colonel_, he deserves better than this. As much as I don't want to make assumptions, unless you tell me differently, I can't help but think you would have kept his child from him."

"I would have," she agreed without a second of hesitation. "Just look around. Where is he now, Steve? And don't tell me he's down in NICU; I won't believe you."

"No. He's at home."

"Drinking." It was not a question.

Captain America paused, then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I don't think so," he said a little coyly, as if he was privy to a secret she did not know. "Just promise you'll talk to him when he comes by."

"_If_ he comes by, and only because it's not like I'm going anywhere for now," she finally gave in. "But there's no way in hell I'm waiting around for him to get his act together."

The cold that had been caused by the massive blood loss was replaced by something else. Carol could feel her face flush, and she was furious that she'd managed to spend what little energy she'd regained on anger over the likes of Tony Stark. Even more humiliating was the fact that by the way he smiled, Steve clearly thought she'd meant something... personal by the 'waiting around for' part of her comment.

"I honestly don't think you'll have to wait long."


	6. Chapter 6

It was no secret that Tony Stark understood machines. He'd made a living – a damn good one – on that ability. He might have been slightly better with hardware than software, but generally speaking anything made out of metal and silicone he touched turned to gold almost over night. Military or civilian application, ninety nine percent of the time, Tony had a first hand in some aspect of everything his company did.

It was also generally assumed that he understood people only slightly less well than machines, but that was because most who made this assumption did not know him personally. Just because a man was an effective boss, good public speaker, and generally media friendly, did not mean he understood people. The reason the aforementioned roles worked so well for him was simple: it was all about statistics. Masses were easy. Individuals were another story.

Sometimes he forgot – or tried to – that he was one as well. A human, that is, not a machine. His drugs of choice for doing so were Iron Man and alcohol, in no particular order. Both made it infinity easier to interact with other people one on one. Whenever he tried it otherwise the results had been less than favorable. That was why one or the other or both were usually at hand.

Currently it was a bottle of 1926 Macallan wiskey that he'd been staring at for the past several hours. Not drinking – surprise! – just staring which was odd considering he was at the bar that stood against one wall of his living room. Perfect place to drown one's sorrows without any interruptions. Except there _were_ interruptions, if only in his own mind. Tony Stark was thinking about the past and the future; his father and his son.

It might have been a cheesy thing to say but if there was one person he had always wanted to be it was his father. Howard Stark had, on many occasions, gone to hell and back for his son. Tony was by no means blind to his father's flaws, but to him they were nothing compared to his virtues, his devotion. And he was starting to realize that that was the point. Despite what Steve said, he'd almost convinced himself that the tiny helpless baby in the Triskelion medical ward was better off without him.

Tony had no illusions about what a miserable excuse for a human being he was. His hands were the problem. Machines might have turned to gold when he touched them, but people tended to turn to shit. Another reason to avid getting to close to them. Still... if he'd wanted to be even half the man his father had been, there was no time to start like the present. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe his son _was_ better off without him, but then again maybe – just _maybe_ – despite all his failings, Tony had something to offer the boy.

Calmly, he slid off the bar stool, picked up the bottle by the neck, and with the swing that would have made Thor proud, smashed it against the edge of the counter. Glass shards and seventy five thousand dollars of wiskey went splashing in every direction. Looking at the sight of the alcohol dripping from the top and sliding off the wall of the bar, Tony felt sick, but also oddly... hopeful.

He was not surprised when Steve showed up at his loft the next day. If anything, Tony was surprised the man had not come earlier to chew him out for not showing up the morning immediately after the last time, so he reigned in his temper.

"It's the worst around forty-eight to seventy-two hours," he told him matter-of-factly. He was half sitting half laying on the couch in his living room, and he smelled about as good as he felt. A shower and shave was several days overdue.

"You said you'd come yesterday morning," Steve's tone was not so much accusatory as... disappointed?

_Typical. The all-American golden boy who thinks he knows everything..._

Tony did not rise to the bait and simply pressed on. "Should get marginally better in about five days to a week," he drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch.

Steve looked like he wanted to yell at him again for not paying attention, but then paused, blond brows drawing together ever so slightly.

"What should get better?"

"Withdrawal symptoms," Tony said in the patient tone one might use with a child asking an obvious question. "They should clear up in about a week for the most part. Assuming I don't go insane first."

"You've tried before?"

"Going insane?"

"Getting sober," there was mild annoyance in the soldier's voice.

Tony shrugged. "Once or twice. I didn't like it."

"Then what makes you think you'll like it now?"

"Oh, I don't. I hate it. Sobriety sucks. And just to let you know, I'm about forty-two hours in, so I'm probably going to be a bigger asshole than usual."

"Noted. Hard to believe that's possible, but noted."

"You're a riot," Tony glared at him, but the other man did not seem to mind.

"So the outside world shouldn't expect to see you for a week?" he clarified, but he did not sound angry or accuse him of postponing the visit.

"I can't..." Tony shook his head vehemently. "I know he won't remember, but..."

"You don't have to explain," Steve smiled. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing. At least in part."

Tony scowled. He just knew that last thing had something to do with a certain blond colonel, so he pointedly did not ask Steve to elaborate. After a moment, he seemed to get the hint. Steve nodded his farewell and turned to go.

"I'll come by later," his friend promised.

"I don't need to be checked up on," Tony grumbled irritably.

"Wouldn't dream of it, but I thought you might like to keep up with how your son is doing. Pretty good incentive, right?"

_Damn good incentive_, Tony thought as the door closed behind Steve. He looked at a small coffee table where a picture of him and his father was proudly displayed. He felt like a steamroller from hell had run him over, and he had no idea how he was supposed to keep it up, but one crisis at a time. Tony stark approached any problem with the true mind of an engineer: deal with the basics first, then tackle the details.

_Basic problem: My head is ringing, and I stink._

_Solution: Go take a shower. Should help with both._

He rose with some effort and headed for the bathroom, extremely grateful for the custom-built surround shower heads that awaited him there.

As for the other issue, the one Steve kept meaningfully hinting at... Well, less than two days of sobriety was not enough time to start thinking about Carol Danvers.


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing Carol did when she was able to get out of bed was insist on taking a shower, or rather what passed for one for a patients in her stage of recovery. A normal Cesarean would have allowed her to be back on her feet in three or four days, but there had been so much damage to fix that the doctor in charge of her surgery warned her that if he saw her walking for more than a few minutes a day outside her room, he he would keep her in for another week in addition to the two she was scheduled to stay.

There was no way that was happening. It was only three days since she'd woken, and already Carol had the urge to run. Her mind did, anyway, but if she was honest with herself she would have admitted her body was nowhere near up for it. The Ultimates were clearly making an effort to keep her distracted. Clint came to see her every once in a while, and Steve visited at five on the dot every day without fail.

That day around one she was angrily flipping through the channels of the standard hospital room television raised in one corner, annoyed that there was nothing better than soap operas on. _High tech government agency_,_ and they can only afford basic_, she thought, not pausing to wonder when she had taken herself out of the 'they'. Thankfully she found herself rescued from having to endure another _Days of Our Lives_ episode by the Valkyrie who entered with an enormous smile. Carol had read the girl's profile, of course, but this was the first time she would have had a chance to speak to her. Most of her communication with the Ultimates prior to her mission in Canada had been through... right...

"Hi!" the Valkyrie started then paused. "Sorry, what do I call you? Colonel Danvers or Ms. Danvers or something else? I'm never know how I'm supposed to talk to military types. Except Cap, 'course."

"Carol's fine," she assured her. _It's not like I'm going to be Colonel Danvers for long_. "You're Barbara Norriss?"

The girl wrinkled her nose. "Valkyrie, but I don't mind Val."

"Sorry. Val."

"No problem," her face brightened up again. "Cap said you could use some company, so here I am. It's nice to meet you."

"You too," Carol smiled. The girl had an infectiously optimistic personality, the kind you either liked or hated on sight. Normally she might have been annoyed, but then quickly decided she liked her.

They chatted for a bit with the Valkyrie doing most of the talking. The best part, Carol decided, was that she was not asking any questions about Canada. She did not even look like she was leading up to bringing it up. It was liberating. Finally after an hour, the girl got up from the visitor's chair and stretched.

"I'm going to see if I can find something to eat," she declared. "Do you want anything?"

"Yes," an idea suddenly flashed in her mind. "If you could help me get down to NICU, that would be great."

"Isn't that pretty far for you?" the Valkyrie looked uncertain. "I'm not sure you're allowed."

_No, but you don't have to know that._ "Val, I _still_ haven't seen my baby."

Any thoughts the younger woman had about denying her request melted away instantly. "You haven't? Oh, but you have to! He's so adorable."

"Is he?" with some help, Carol's feet made it to the floor then slowly towards the wheelchair.

"Yup. Looks just like Tony."

_I hope not_, she thought bitterly, but then she also had not thought to deny that the child was Tony's. Maybe it never crossed her mind because she had not expected to see anyone from her old life again. Or maybe it was the stark – pardon the pun – simplicity that came with the situation; he could not be anyone else's, so there was no point in claiming otherwise. She could have probably come up with something, but she was military first, espionage agent second, and military minds often worked in black and white.

The doctor down in NICU came of as a bit harsh, but the man sounded like he knew what he was talking about. When she asked if she could hold the baby, he simply shook his head.

"He's gained a few ounces, but he still doesn't have enough fat to keep him warm enough outside the incubator. Most importantly, his lungs need a little more time to develop. I'd give it another four or five days, Colonel. Believe me, the moment I think it's safe for him to be held, you'll be the first to know. His progress should improve significantly after that, as should yours, I expect. What have the doctors upstairs told you about your prognosis?"

"That I'll live?" she did not quite understand the question.

"I meant about your recovery time. Don't feel like anyone's pushing you, but the reason I ask is because we'd like to know if you'll be able to breastfeed or maybe pump anytime soon. We have him on a high calorie formula, but there are certain antigens in breast milk that would do a preemie's fragile immune system a world of good."

Carol remembered something about that, and her face fell. "I think they told me I might not be able to produce anything for a while. Something about the body needing to heal up before it does anything 'extra' Some... some crap like that."

She felt like a complete failure. Not only had she been unable to make sure her son was brought to term, but now she could not even give him what he needed to get better. Carol Danvers had never cried in front of another human being in her life, but she felt dangerously close to it now.

Still she managed to reign in the emotions until her wheelchair was parked in front of the incubator, and she was alone with her son. Careful not to touch anything else as her sterilized hand reached into the incubator, her finger tips rested on the soft skin of the baby's chest to feel it rise and fall as he took short shallow breaths. He reacted to her touch, instinctively shifting to pin point the source of the sensation. For a moment, she could have sworn he opened his eyes and really saw her.

It was difficult to look at him.

It was impossible to look away.

"Damn," Carol whispered through tears she barely noticed. "God damn it. You really _do_ look like your dad."


	8. Chapter 8

Clint did not spend years as an espionage agent without developing the ability to thoroughly commit to memory and process everything he heard around him. It did not matter that he was not in the room. The moment Nick Fury decided it was the right time to confront Colonel Danvers, he knew. And he had less than five hours to talk to the others and do something about it.

Not that any of them had a particular fondness for her, at least not before. In the old days, as far as most of the Ultimates were concerned, the only difference between Danvers and Fury was that one was easier on the eyes than the other – what did you expect from a predominantly male team? – but something about their perception had changed since they brought her back. If asked, Clint was not sure he could articulate the thought, except to say this:

The Ultimates were not suddenly being nice to Carol Danvers because she had been Tony's bedmate. That was an ill-kept and quietly tolerated fact known all along. Nor were they being nice because she was the mother of his child, at least not completely. The real reason was that, though they had not spoken of it, Clint knew that when he and Steve looked at her, parts of them saw Laura and Gail and the children lost to them. People the government should have protected – had sworn to protect! – and instead screwed over.

"Can we not help this woman?" Thor asked.

They were in an empty office on thirty-second floor of the Triskelion, and thanks to a small, well-placed power surge, every piece of electronic equipment including all the bugs and cameras on the floor and three levels above and bellow them had just failed. It did not have to be a group effort, but Thor had even less love for S.H.I.E.L.D. than the rest of them and he was on good terms with Tony so Steve thought he might have been able to help.

"Not without things turning very very messy," Captain America replied grimly.

"But we have to do something! She was just trying to protect her baby," the Valkyrie insisted with the voice of someone young enough to still cling to what she perceived as the most obvious and important aspect of a situation. "That's not wrong, is it?"

"Of course not," Thor assured her.

"Not in of itself," Steve corrected. "As much as I disagree with them, technically speaking, she _did_ go AWOL. The military is well within their rights to prosecute her. It doesn't help that she still refuses to talk about whatever happened up there."

"We need Stark," Clint's tone held the exasperation of someone who had said the same thing many times already and was not expecting anyone to listen anymore.

"We can't have him," Steve said simply. "Not now. Not for this."

"But we _need_ him," the other man insisted. "_She_ needs him. Stark has the kind of pull we just don't. He's the only person in the country remotely capable of making credible threats to S.H.I.E.L.D., the only one they'll bend for."

Everyone knew he was right. A silence fell across the room, broken only by Steve's audible sigh. Things had been easier in 1945, in simpler times. It would not have crossed anyone's mind that a man might _not_ go to extraordinary length to help the mother of his child. Maybe he could... What? Appeal to Tony's sense of honor? Not to say that the man was amoral per se, but Steve was worried. It had taken so much effort for him just to acknowledge his son, and he still refused to talk about Carol at all. Combined with the mental and physical effects of withdrawal, he was afraid that this would undo any of the progress and push his friend to a place Tony might not come back from.

_Well, okay_, Steve decided, his military mind already formulating a plan of attack. _I did say I'd keep him informed on how the baby was doing. Seems like the mother's well-being is directly relevant._ The best way to approach someone as pig-headed as Tony was actually fairly simple. As long as Steve simply gave him the information rather than told him what he thought should be done there was a chance Tony might reach the right conclusion on his own.

Slim, but it was there.

* * * * * * * * * *

"The lot of you are making me nervous. Is there a firing squad on its way?"

Some women might have found Captain America and Hawkeye dutifully parked in their hospital room for three hours flattering. Carol found it mind-bogglingly annoying, and she was at a place in her recovery where she could afford to spend energy on that emotion. Steve and Clint exchanged a look.

"Hopefully not," Clint muttered then turned to Steve and lowered his voice. "It's almost two. Fury should be here any minute. Where the hell is _he_? You said you talked to him."

"To Fury?" Carol sat up slightly. Obviously she had overheard.

"I did," Steve replied in an equally low voice, pretending not to have heard her question. "He seemed... despondent. I would've been happier if he'd shown any kind of emotion about it at all."

"Did you happen to get a whiff of some particularly expensive scotch?" the archer snorted.

Carol's crystal blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "You two did not drag Stark into this. Cap, please tell me you didn't threaten him into playing the knight in shining armor. That's not who he is. He doesn't owe me anything, and I want nothing from him. Frankly the last person I want to see at my court-martial is Tony Stark!"

If Steve had anything to say in his defense, he did not get the chance. The sound of heavy military-issued boots could be heard approaching in the hall, and a moment later General Nicholas Fury entered, flanked by two Marines. Carol straightened in the hospital bed, a resigned look on her face, but the two men already in the room stood between her and the new arrivals. Fury ignored them both.

"Colonel Danvers," he began without preamble, "you are charged with desertion under Article 86 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. How do you plead?"

"Guilty," she said firmly, much to Steve's dismay. She wasn't even going to fight it?

"You do realize," Fury's said severely, "that you face an automatic General Court-Martial. That means at the very least a dishonorable discharge and possibly other punishments?"

"General, I'm not going to waste your time and mine pretending I didn't do something I did," Danvers replied. "Draw up your charges, and I will face whatever consciousness seen fit."

"Very well," he nodded at the two Marines behind him. "Take her into custody."

"Might want to hold off on that, Nick."

Fury raised a hand for the soldiers to halt.

Steve and Clint shared a triumphant grin.

Carol simply did not know what she was supposed to think.

Right there, casually leaning against the door frame and wearing a very expensive – though not metallic – suit, was Tony Stark.


	9. Chapter 9

_There are moments in every man's life when he's given the choice to do the right thing or do nothing._

He had no idea were the words came from, but they kept playing over and over again in Tony's head as he faced the reinstated Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., his friends and teammates, and his one-time lover.

"Here's the thing," he said casually. "I've been talking to some of my execs. With all the rebuilding projects and what not Stark International is so very busy with all around the country, not to mention the world really, I'm afraid we just don't have the time or resources to accommodate all these government contracts you keep throwing at us. In fact, between running the company and the Ultimates, I don't think I'll have time for any of them in the foreseeable future. Like the next sixty years, maybe."

A very optimistic statement for a man suffering from cancer, and also the biggest pile of steaming bull shit anyone in the room had ever heard. As Fury himself once said, Tony Stark could conduct a multilingual business deal, satisfy a girlfriend over the phone, and memorize a six hundred page military briefing all at the same time. He'd turned multitasking into an art form, and he was the master.

"You can't be serious," the general looked indignant. "How drunk are you?"

"Totally sober," Tony assured him, "which, for both of us, is infinity worse than the alternative."

This was the first _right_ choice he'd made in a long time, as far as Tony was concerned. No matter how physically sick he felt, how much he wanted to gulp down a glass of scotch or vodka or something, he'd promised himself – and his son – seven days of sobriety, and he was nothing if not stubborn.

"You're bluffing," Fury challenged, glaring at him through his one good eye. "You've done some pretty stupid things a woman before, but giving up millions worth of contracts..."

"Don't you concern your shiny bald head with why I'm doing it. All you have to worry about is that this is going to hurt you and Uncle Sam a lot more than it's going to hurt me. Walk away, Nick. Call off your dogs and walk away, or I swear you'll be begging Reed Richards for tech. Kid's smart, but I don't think he's too much into weapons."

No one could have guessed what was going through his head. Tony was not entirely sure why he was doing this. It was not for Carol. At least he did not think it was. He tried not to look at her at all, keeping his full attention on Fury. After several long seconds worth of a glaring contest, the general gritted his teeth but seemed to concede.

"What do you want, Stark?"

_Nothing you can give, Fury..._

"You should be asking what the lady wants. Just off the top of my head, I'd say some maternity leave would be nice. Then you two can sit down and draft up some sort of peaceful solution to this little misunderstanding."

He could feel everyone staring at him, but Tony was no stranger to being the center of attention and was quite good at projecting an air of calm self-assuredness even when his insides felt like jelly. He needed a drink...

_Nope, not going there..._

"What's it gonna be, Nick?"

Fifteen seconds later, S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone with little more than a, "We'll be in touch." Tony let them pass by him, sharing a pointed look with Fury, and then he was alone in the room with the other Ultimates and Carol. From the corner of his eye, he could see Steve grinning from ear to ear, looking very much like a proud parent whose wayward child _finally_ did something right.

_Don't be too proud of me just yet, Cap..._

"Okay," he smiled at the two remaining men. "Mission accomplished. Maiden... excuse me... damsel rescued. Thanks for coming. See you later."

Clint was clearly resisting the urge to roll his eyes, but he did start for the door. He passed through but paused when they were face to face, and Tony could easily read the "for the love of God, don't do anything _too_ stupid, Stark" look on the other man's face. He had seen it often enough before, after all. Steve also nodded his farewell to Carol and looked ready to leave, but he actually stopped.

"Tony..."

"G'bye, Steve."

"Just don't..."

_Don't do anything Hank Pym might have done, _Tony thought, but aloud he said. "Go. Away."

Steve must have had a lot more faith in him than he did, because the captain was finally gone, and Tony turned to face the woman in the hospital bed. Carol had probably managed to make a detailed study of every square foot of wall and floor in the room, anything to avoid looking at him. That bothered him, because no matter how tense the situation, he would have never before called her a coward. For his part, Tony still did not know how he felt. Pissed off, was the easy answer. Furious at her for running, for not getting in touch with him. Damn it all, did she really think so little of him?

_Why are you so surprised, Stark?_ a voice inside his head taunted.

"Thanks," was all she finally managed to say.

_For what? Blowing up that building and nearly killing you and the kid?_

"I didn't do it for you, sweetheart."

The way he'd said it, what should have been an endearment felt like an ice-cold grip around her throat, but she did finally look up at him, eyes demanding. "Then why?"

"You would've kept me from my kid," he replied. "And I'm trying _not_ to be that big of a bastard. Not that I would know, but I figure a mom's a good thing to have, even if it's you."

Tony had never known Maria Stark. She had died on the operating room table, technically before he was even born, and it was difficult to miss someone he'd never really known except perhaps the idea of her. All he knew that his father had initially given up his company, everything he had, to be with her. As an adult and after countless failed relationships including the colossal disaster of his engagement, Tony often found that part difficult to understand.

"This has nothing to do with you," Carol's sharp voice broke through his thoughts.

"Really?" he did not even pretend to take her seriously, "'cause short of an alien impregnation – which, given your last boyfriend and the crowd we generally hang with, I'll admit might have crossed my mind as a possibility – I'm pretty sure that's my kid."

"Of course he's yours," she sounded exasperated.

"Then why?" he turned her own question on her waving a hand to indicate the expanse of the room. "Why did you do... any of this?"

_Because you _are_ a bastard_, the taunting voice returned. _When have you ever shown an ounce of maturity? Anything to make her think she could rely on you if this happened?_

"I would've..." he paused, speaking more to his inner demons than to her, but Carol did not notice the change. She glared.

"You would've what, Tony? Done the right thing? Please, tell me what that should have been, because I didn't know then and I sure as hell don't know now."

Tony did not know either. He would have liked to have been able to say he would have known then, but the more he thought about it, the less certain he was. Knowing himself as well as he did, there was a good chance he might have done the complete opposite of the 'right thing', whatever the hell that was. There was only one part he was absolutely certain of.

"Coming to me would have been right," he said with finality.

Carol gave him an unreadable but clearly grim look. "I might have, if I ever felt like I could."


	10. Chapter 10

He left because there was nothing else to say. Nothing remotely polite, anyway. Tony briefly wondered when he'd gained such amazing self-control, but apparently sobriety had all sorts of interesting side effects. His nerves were still rattled though, so instead of going home he went down to NICU. Babies were supposed to have a soothing effect. He'd heard something along those lines somewhere.

There was no actual need to go inside though. At some point since he had last been there, the doctors had wheeled the incubator close to the window that separated the unit from the rest of the medical ward. Tony could easily see the baby and smiled, touching the glass.

"He looks better, doesn't he?" he still faced the brier but was now speaking to the owner of the pair of heavy approaching steps. "I think he put on some weight, and they took of that blindfold thing so he can... see things, I guess," he released a small nervous laugh. "Christ, listen to me: I'm actually trying to sound like a know something about kids."

Thor, who had made his way to stand next to him by then, clapped the smaller man on the back hard enough that Tony really felt it. _Guess sometimes even gods don't know their own strength_, he thought wryly making an honest attempt to straighten himself again.

"He looks like a warrior," Thor proclaimed.

_He is_, Tony silently agreed. _How else could have survived all that?_

"I have yet to offer my congratulations," the Norse god began, "And I would also offer to buy you a beer, except..."

"Don't even go there," the billionaire waved his hand dismissively. "It's too depressing."

"Very well. How do you feel, my friend?""

"Physically?" he ran a had through his short black hair. "I'm just trying not to think about it. Then maybe I won't throw up all over their nice clean floors. I'd like to think I'm a little better though, you know?" he tapped his temple. "Up here. Brain tumor not withstanding."

"I'm certain you are," Thor smiled and jabbed a finger pointedly at Tony's chest. "And here too, I expect."

"If you have to go all sentimental on me," the man pretended to be annoyed. "Didn't really expect that organ to still function, but life's full of surprises."

"Indeed it is."

"Mr. Stark?" he glanced up as the door of the unit opened. The nurse he remembered from a few days ago stood there smiling. "We think he's ready to come off the ventilator, so you can hold him now if you like."

"Great!" he opened his mouth to say that, of course, he would, then stopped and sighed. "Actually, why don't you call Danvers and give her the good news? She should have the honors first, right?"

The nurse smiled and disappeared back into the unit, presumably to call upstairs. By the look on her face, he just knew she was thinking something stupid along the lines of "Isn't that lovely? Such a nice man...". Thor clearly knew better. As the woman left, the god cocked his head to the side and frowned at him.

"Two more days to go," he held up his fingers in the V sign as a means of explanation.

"Ah," Thor nodded in understanding. "Then I wish you the best of luck."

"Can't you do more than that?" Tony asked, only half joking. "Can't you... wave your magic hammer and fix all this?"

"You know very well I cannot," the god smiled. "That isn't how things work."

"Oh, sure," Tony rolled his eyes in pretense sarcasm. "You can summon an army of ass guards..."

"I believe you mean Asgardian warriors..."

"...but you can't help out one kid."

That earned him a meaningful look. "I'm going to assume that was the withdrawal talking and not hold it against you, but I find it interesting that you would ask on behalf of your son but not for yourself or Colonel Danvers."

"I should be able to help myself," Tony said defensively. "As for the other part, unless you want me to tell you you're taking cues from someone you once considered a 'fascist government lackey', leave it alone."

"If you mean Captain America, I take no offense."

"Yeah, well, speaking of which," he wiped his face and yawned. "I'm heading out. Going to see if I can get any work done at the office. All this drama is costing S.I. millions. Not that I'm actually worried Nicky-boy's going to turn down Stark tech..."

"And you don't want to be here when she comes down," Thor added.

"That too," he did not even bother to deny it. "See you..."

The farewell was interrupted by the sound of a bang, like someone had stumbled against a wall. Both men followed the sound to the elevator doors. Apparently the nurse had made that call, because Carol was slowly but persistently making her way towards them.

_Without a wheelchair_, Tony noted with some annoyance. _What the hell is she trying to prove?_

Something was not right. She looked far too pale, even in comparison with how he'd seen her just an hour ago. The walk was clearly becoming more and more difficult with every step, and suddenly Tony forgot his anger.

"Carol?" the worry escalated in his voice.

She stumbled, and he saw that the white hospital gown that should have covered the safely secured stitches from her surgery was once again stained in crimson all around her abdomen, and the red was spreading. He was not even thinking as he ran, somehow managing to catch her just before she crumbled to the floor. Somewhere in the distance – it sounded like very far away – he heard Thor shout for a medic. All Tony heard coming out of his own mouth was:

"Oh, fuck!"


	11. Chapter 11

Tony would have been the first person to declare himself a genius, but the doctors were using words he was just not understanding, terrifying phrases like 'possible uterine rupture' that made his already unstable stomach churn. What the fuck was wrong with these people? They were supposed to be the best of the best.

_I lied_, pounded the thought. _I didn't mean to make it sound like I didn't care if something happened to her. Oh, God, I lied. You should know by now I always lie. Don't You dare let her die, You stupid bastard._

"I gotta go, " he said to no one in particular though Steve and Thor were both standing beside him in front of the doors to one of the operating rooms.

The soldier and the god exchanged twin deep frowns.

"No," Steve said firmly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but right now I have zero faith in the fact that you won't empty the liquor cabinet at your apartment. Go be with your son. We'll let you know as soon as they tell us something."

"I still have..."

"Don't tell me about how many more days you have to stay away from the bottle," the other man held up a hand. "If you go home now, it'll be back to square one. And if, God forbid, that boy looses his mother in there, at least let him be with his father."

He wanted to argue, to call the captain every vile name he could think of, but he just did not have the strength. All he could hear was the demon in his head.

_So you wanted to be dear ol' dad, Stark? Well, here you go. Maybe now that kid of yours is going to turn out exactly as 'brilliantly' as you did._

_Shut up!_

Tony spun on his heel and went before he started talking to himself and really looked like a lunatic in front of his friends. He fully intended on going home and maybe doing exactly what Steve thought he would just to spite the man, but was actually silently grateful to find himself in NICU again. The doctor in did not look nearly as happy.

"We were expecting Colonel Danvers."

"Sorry to disappoint," Tony snapped. "You're going to have to make due with me."

"I really don't think..."

"I don't give a flying fuck what you think!" his face twisted in fury. "I want to see my kid."

The doctor scowled but must have decided he did not want to make an enemy of Iron Man. Inside the unit he handed Tony over to the nurse who once again patiently walked him through the sterilization process and helped him get a clean smock over his clothes. She pointed out a simple white rocking chair in the corner and told him to make himself comfortable while she went to get the baby.

_Holy shit_, was all Tony could think when the infant was placed in his arms. He was both pleased and quite surprised to note that for once his hands were not shaking, though that did not seem to help much. It took only seconds before the baby began to squirm and make small but clearly dissatisfied noises of frustration. Tony, at a loss of what he was doing wrong, tried to rock him, but the boy was having none of it. His cries escalated until the nurse came running back in. With the quick eye of someone who had been doing her job for a long time, she assessed the situation and gave Tony a stern look.

"You're going to have to calm down if you want to hold him, Mr. Stark," she advised. "Babies are very good at picking up on tension, and he doesn't need any more."

"Sorry," he literally willed his heart to beat slower and looked down at his son. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to stress you out."

The baby hiccuped but settled after a moment, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief. The nurse nodded her approval and disappeared again but returned only a few seconds later with a small bottle of formula that she handed to him.

"See if he'll take to it," the woman said before leaving for good. "We've been giving him nutrition through the feeding tube, but it would be great if he could eat on his own, if only a little. Other than that, just hold him and talk to him. I know he looks very fragile, but he needs the human interaction a lot more than that incubator."

As the nurse instructed, Tony touched the nipple of the bottle to the corners of the baby's mouth, though at first the boy seemed completely confused as to where he was supposed to turn. It took a few attempts. The rooting reflex that was inherent in all infants was not always fully developed in those born so early, and even when he managed to get his mouth around the tip, the baby missed several times before he figured out how to suckle.

"I know," Tony said sympathetically. "I bet rubber doesn't taste nearly as good as the alternative." Then, taking a second to think about the phrase, he winced. "Your old man better tone down that typical-Tony Stark behavior and start thinking G-rated. Do you know what your mom would do to me if she heard that? Fifty story window. No armor. And trust me, she doesn't need super powers for that."

He must have decided that the bottle was better than nothing because the formula was slowly but surely starting to disappear. Tony thought the appetite a very good thing and for a while he was content to simply hold his son and watch him eat. After a little while though with over half still full, the boy turned away from the meal and refused to try again when Tony offered it back to him. He sat aside the bottle and just because he'd seen it somewhere carefully cradled his son against his shoulder and rubbed his back. The baby made a gurgling noise and dutifully spat up some of the formula.

_Nice_, Tony thought not without a measure of humor. _Oh, sure, there's a hospital smock now, but let's see how many grad worth of suits we can go though once he comes home. Not that I haven't thrown out one for less... Baby spit is probably the last kind of bodily fluid that hasn't visited a Stark suit._

One meal then another every two to three hours with varying degrees of success. He had never been very good about standing still, but the time went by with him in the same rocking chair. Both father and son drifted a little, the baby more so than Tony who made absolutely sure he was always awake enough to have a secure hold on the infant.

It was difficult to tell time in a place with no natural light, but eventually the nurse returned looking much more refreshed than he felt and took the now sleeping baby from him again.

"You need rest," she nodded her head towards the outside world. "It's six in the morning, and you've been here for nearly ten hours."

"'m fine," did not sound so convincing when stifled by a yawn. "Seriously. Totally fine."

"Well, at least go get some food and coffee in your stomach," she said mildly. "He'll still be here when you come back, Mr. Stark. No one's taking your son from you."

Had he been thinking that? Tony did not know, but he was unbelievably reluctant to part with the infant if only for the amount of time it took him to drag his feet to the mess hall and consume the cup of cheap coffee. It was not lost on him that maybe he was not the only one.

_That's it, isn't it?_ he thought as he walked back towards the NICU. The fear he had seen in Carol's eyes that he could not understand at the time. _She's been afraid of loosing the baby. That something would happen to him or that some bastard like Fury would take her away from him. Or me, _Tony realized. _She thought I'd take him away. Damn. Half a day and still no news. What's taking those docs so long?_

"You know what you need?" he looked down at his son, now once again cradled in his arms. "A name. Can't be the Danvers/Stark baby forever, right? Names are important. Gotta get you one of those."

The infant squinted up at him almost expectantly, and Tony stared back.

"Right," he cleared his throat. "Your mom must've had something in mind. Tell you what? Soon as she's better, we'll talk about it, I promise."

"Tony?"

It was not the nurse or the NICU doctor. Steve stood in the doorway holding a mask over his nose and mouth. Unnecessary, but Tony appreciated the precaution. He did not, however, appreciate the fact that it meant he could not read the other man's face.

_Don't tell me she's dead_, he pleaded. _Don't make me out to be a liar in front of my kid._


	12. Chapter 12

_I hate hospitals._

He'd had the thought far too often over the past few years. First the cancer, all the friends injured on Ultimates missions and off, then the world-wide carnage Magneto caused.

_And people wonder why I drink... used to drink... whatever..._

Ever since they'd come back from Canada a week ago, Tony's well-developed cynicism told him it was going to be just another one of those prolonged visits, more likely than not with a tragic ending. Not that he cared, he'd told himself. He and Carol had never pretended to be anything more than convenient to one another, so why should he have felt anything save perhaps anger about the manner of her return? Except that Tony was loath to discover he did care. A lot. Which, of course, made him feel even worse because he knew – just knew – this was going to end just as badly as everything else he cared about in his life.

_Worst case scenario #1: They're both going to die. Kid's gotten better, but he's so damn small! How is he supposed to survive without her?_

But even he could not quite think that way anymore. His son _had_ gotten stronger even just within the past week, and there was no limit on the length Tony would go for him, the latest and best medical care at his disposal. Of course he worried, but maybe there was no need to be quite so cynical.

_Worst case scenario #2: Carol dies. Just when she's healing up, she goes and thinks she's invincible, tears out all the stitches and... Good God! Uterine rupture?! Can't get over how bad – how fatal! – that sounds..._

"Are you listening to me?" Steve was talking to him, he remembered.

"No," he admitted though with genuine apology in his voice. "Sorry. You were saying?"

"Carol's in ICU, but they're about to move her back to her room."

Tony blinked, not quite sure if he'd heard right and almost afraid to ask.

"She made it?"

"She made it," the captain confirmed with a smile. "It wasn't as bad as the doctors thought at first. Some pulled stitches, but not..."

He was not listening anymore. Tony shot up so fast that the rocking chair almost tipped over. Only the startled cries of the baby in his arms brought him back to reality and he remembered that he could not just walk out. He frowned in thought momentarily, looked at the baby, then up at Steve, at the baby again, and back at Steve.

"You can loose the mask, but go wash your hands," he nodded in the direction of the sink and bar of sterilizing soap in the far corner.

"What?" the soldier looked confused.

"Your hands," Tony raised his voice slightly. "Wash them before I give you the kid."

Captain America just stared.

"The nurse said it's good for him to be held, bond and stuff," he used the slow patient tone again. "So while I go visit his mom, he's going to bond with his Uncle Steve. We good? Good. Go wash your hands."

* * *

The room was on the western side of the Triskelion and thus still mostly dark at around seven a.m. when he came in and quietly shut the door behind him. Her face was tilted slightly towards the window where the blinds were drawn. Depending on how strong the anesthesia was this time and if she was not awake already, Carol might have been getting a wakeup call within an hour or so when the sun finally reached that side of the building. If she heard him enter, she did not turn. Maybe she was pretending to be sleeping. Maybe she really was.

Tony came around to the small stretch of space between the bed and the window and bent to rest most of his weight on his haunches and watched her for a moment trying to determine of he should even try. Carol's lids fluttered, but she did not seem to really see him. Tony sighed. Part of him still wanted to yell, but it was a much smaller and manageable desire than before.

"Hey," his tone was also infinity milder than the last time he'd seen her. "You awake?"

Carol blinked and after a few more seconds focused on him. _Kid's got her eyes_, Tony observed. _My hair, her eyes, and if there's a god, her luck in the health department._ She looked like she wanted to say something, but he held up a hand.

"Don't talk. For once, just listen. I'm not mad. I mean, I'm getting past the mad," there were so many other emotions – mainly confusion – but none of that mattered now either. "The baby's doing good. I saw him. I held him, so don't worry. He's going to be right here when you get better, but no more stunts like that, got me? Docs say you got lucky nothing worse happened, and since there's a ticking time-bomb in my head, let's try not to make our boy an orphan before his first birthday. Deal? "

Carol took a breath and licked her chapped lips.

"Thank you," she managed before her eyes closed again.

_Don't thank me, _Tony turned to go back downstairs and let her rest._ It's been a long time since I did anything right. Nothing here even comes close to tipping the scales._


	13. Chapter 13

_Alcohol is a depressant_, Tony reminded himself for the millionth time. _Regardless of what shape my liver is in or how much I want it, it's the absolute last thing I need right now. No matter how much I want it... right._

He yawned and stretched in front of his laptop. Outside the expansive windows of his Triskelion office, the sun had almost set on... he'd lost track of the days. Tony looked around. Something was missing. Oh, right. The liquor cart. He'd gotten rid of that the first time he'd set foot in the office after Canada.

Tony wiped his face and sighed. Looking at the computer screen and trying to work was getting... correction: had gotten to the useless point several hours ago. He needed to get out of the office, maybe sit down and have a bite with someone, but none of the other Ultimates were there. He did not blame them; who would voluntarily hang around S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel?

_And why am I here again, exactly?_

He knew the answer to that. The baby was still in NICU and despite steadily gaining weight and improving lung function was unlikely to leave anytime soon. Normally that's where he would be too except... _Stupid doctors_, thought Tony, but resolved to get up if only to move a little and take a walk around a few floors of the Triskelion. Except that within moments he found himself once again in Carol's room, flopping into one of the visitor's chairs with a dramatic sigh.

"You look like shit, Stark," she murmured sleepily, only then turning to look at him.

"Says the woman who's had to visit the OR twice in one week," he scoffed but was genuinely too tired to argue.

"Seriously. When was the last time you slept?"

It was an effort for him to convert all the hours into days. Division by... 24, was it? The last time Tony had looked at a clock was just before he'd confronted Fury, and that felt like forever ago. He'd spent the rest of the time since then floating somewhere between NICU, Carol's room, and occasionally his office to get some much neglected work done.

"Three... no, wait, maybe four days ago?" he ventured a guess. "Honestly, I'm at the point where I'm considering the practicality of shooting up caffeine or maybe something a bit stronger. Like cocaine."

Her eyes shot open, and she gave him a look that fell somewhere between horror and disgust.

_Damn..._

"Sorry," Tony held up both hands in a calming gesture. "Very bad, incredibly stupid joke. Come on, you know my brain-to-mouth filter works at fifty percent capacity in the best of times, and when I'm sleep deprived... Did you know they kicked me out of NICU? Took one look at me this morning and told me not to come back until I had at least six consecutive hours of sleep."

"So that's why you came to bother me?"

_No, I came to bother you because of the liquor cart missing from my office, and for once not because I drank it all_, he thought then stopped. _Christ, when the hell did Carol become my AA sponsor? This is such crap..._

"So that's why I'm going home," he concluded and forced himself up.

"Stark," her voice caught him halfway to the door, and he turned to look over his shoulder. "Remember what you said a few days ago about _not_ trying to make the baby an orphan? It goes for your end too, and right now I don't think you could be any more impaired if you'd just gone shot for shot with the Hulk, in the field or with the bottle."

He did not appreciate that in the least and was about to tell her so, but Carol was scooting to the edge of the bed and wordlessly holding out her hand to him. There were a lot of things he could have said. _I have a driver that can take me home. I can crash in one of the spare quarters here. There's a very comfortable couch in my office._ But Tony Stark was still Tony Stark and thus would never decline a beautiful woman's invitation into her bed.

So he kicked off his shoes and went. They did not actually touch, remaining as physically distant as a hospital bed not meant for two people would allow. Tony was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, letting go of at least some of the tension that had piled up. Carol chucked quietly but was also asleep within moments.

If she had happened to wake up when Tony was leaving and looked at the clock on the wall, she would have seen that it had been exactly six hours to the dot.

* * *

Carol was sure that the only reason the doctors had let her out of the room was because one of the medical staff wheeled her down to NICU. No amount of insisting she was fine did any good, but she drew the line at letting the attendee hover next to her in the room.

"Wait in the hall if you feel like sticking around," she said, "but I'm perfectly capable of taking the elevator back upstairs."

"Good to hear, ma'am," the man nodded. "I'll be right outside when you're done."

She was not sure what it was about the way he said it, but something about the 'ma'am' sounded wrong to her. _Of course_, Carol thought bitterly. Everyone at the Triskelion, from the medical staff to the janitors were all somehow military – most likely S.H.I.E.L.D. – connected. _They must all think I'm a deserter and a coward._ At least one of those was true, and she was becoming more and more assured that the other was as well.

_To hell with them_, she thought and pushed the wheelchair into the unit and the thoughts of her career and S.H.I.E.L.D. out of her head. She was about to go try to find the doctor or one of the nurses and ask about the baby, but the sound of a rocking chair moving back and forth reached her. Carol looked to the far corner where Tony was sitting and talking to the infant in his arms. He was so engrossed in the tale that apparently he had not even heard her enter.

"Anyway," he was saying. "Reed Richards accidentally turned another world into a scene from "Attack of the Blob" so naturally they called in the heavy machinery to clean up that mess. Hey, it was fun, though not as much fun as the time Thor and I hooked up with the Fantastic Four to stop an alien invasion. I know what you're going to say: "That's boring, Dad. How many _almost_-alien invasions does that make?", but that was the first time we actually left earth. You need to meet Reed at some point. He has some very cool toys."

The image of her son in Richards' – or for that matter Tony's – machine shop was frightening to say the least, but the scene before her made Carol smile. For good or ill, Tony never did anything in half-measures, and this was clearly true for fatherhood as well. It made her feel both glad and guilty at the same time. She pushed the thought aside as well.

"Hate to interrupt this father/son bonding moment," she pushed forward until she was parked next to the rocking chair.

Tony glanced up and despite accumulated exhaustion his face looked almost radiant. "So they let you out?"

"I think they just got tired of me complaining," she stroked the baby's soft raven hair. He blinked rapidly and tilted his head, probably wondering who else was there.

"This is the first time you've seen him since Val took you down here, isn't it?" Tony guessed. "Probably hard to recognize him now that he look more like a baby than a shaved monkey."

Carol couldn't help but laugh. "Hand him over, Stark."

"Fine by me," they slowly and carefully maneuvered the infant so that he was lying half in her arms, half in her lap. "He just ate, by the way, so don't be surprised if you find formula barf all over your evening dress. We're still having some trouble in that department."

_Hospital gown, of course, qualifies as an evening dress._ "Your dad thinks he's funny," she looked down at her son. "We know he's not, but don't tell him that."

The baby squirmed a little, his pink face scrunching up, and after a few small unhappy grunts he looked like he was working his way up to a thorough loud wail. Carol was at a loss. Tony, on the other hand, grinned.

"Ha!" he proclaimed triumphantly. "I knew he'd be on my side!"

"It's not funny!" she was beginning to look as distressed as the baby. "Am I hurting him?"

_He doesn't recognize me at all_, was the terrified thought in her mind. But his father did not seem terribly concerned.

"No, he's probably just a little uncomfortable. Try holding him against your chest. He usually likes that."

She frowned but shifted the infant so that one hand was propping him up from the bottom and the other rested protectively behind his neck. It seemed like a very awkward almost vertical position, but he did not seemed to mind and quieted almost immediately, nuzzling his face against the bare skin between her breasts. Carol was impressed.

"You've really figured it all out," she said to Tony, trying not to sound a little jealous for the extra days he's had with the baby.

"Genius, remember?" he tapped his temple with a grin.

Carol gave him a look of mock annoyance, but she did not really mind. After all, the superficial conversations that passed between them since they started talking to one another again have been so easy to keep up.

So very easy...


	14. Chapter 14

Five days later he was having lunch with Steve and Clint in one of the best bistros in Manhattan. There were matters to be discussed that were not for S.H.I.E.L.D. ears. Of course they could have talked at Tony's loft, but the weather was just too nice to be indoors. Besides, the place had the best cheeseburgers he had ever tasted.

"What's the word on this little project of yours?" Clint asked.

"Almost done," Tony nodded and wiped his hands. "I'd say there's a good shot we might pull this off. Still need to check on construction and some other details, but we should be ready to go in a few weeks."

"I'm impressed you managed to keep this off of Fury's radar."

"Have I?" Clint would know, being the super-spy and all. "I guess he's been busy, not that it matters. It's not like he can do anything about it."

"I think he's seen just how big of a manipulative bastard you can be," Steve nodded in his direction, "and just doesn't want to deal with you again."

"Feeling's mutual," the billionaire assured him. "Nick's got his uses, but not for this. S.H.I.E.L.D. is a sledgehammer and an overly nationalistic one at that. If there's anything the disaster with Magneto once again proved is that we need to think global."

"Thor will be thrilled," Clint said thoughtfully. "No complaints on my end either."

"Or mine," Steve agreed. "I'm not as naive as I used to be."

The conversation went on normally enough with them discussing upcoming missions, which members of the team were going, what kind of outside help they were going to have. Tony was likely to sit a few of the more immediate ones out with all the work he had to catch up on, but for once no one held it against him.

"How is your son?" Steve veered the conversation to personal matters. He brought it up as casually as he might have said 'oh, by the way, we really should look into how A.I.M. is connected to this thing with mission X.' Even after over two weeks it felt odd for Tony.

"He's good. The doctor wants to keep him in NICU for another four weeks or so, but they checked him out and if he passes inspection then, they'll let him come home. Which, actually, works well with the timetable for that other project..."

Clint snorted, and Tony just knew what he was thinking. 'Passes inspection? It's a baby, Stark, not a car'. Instead he said, "Are you planing on maybe calling him something other than Danvers/Stark Mark I by then?"

Tony had to laugh at that. "Are you implying that there should be a Mark II?"

That caused Steve to raise a brow. "What _is_ going on with you and Carol?"

Yes, lunch had started normally, but at that point Tony found himself thinking that all they were missing was Thor for the whole thing to turn into a reverse "Sex and the City". It was just so ludicrous...

"What are you talking about?" the cheeseburger paused on it's way to his mouth. "There's no 'me and Carol'."

The captain frowned, apparently unable to understand what he had just said. "But she's..."

"The mother of my son," Tony finished. "Maybe – _maybe_ – a friend at some point. You don't understand: we were never... an item even when we were sleeping together."

"As opposed to what you're doing now?" Clint gave him look over his cup that was somehow both meaningful and casual at the same time.

"What does that mean?" Steve looked between the two men.

"I have no idea what he's talking about," now it was Tony's turn to hide behind his coffee. Damn, but there really wasn't keeping anything from the super-spy.

The captain did not buy his pretense at innocence for a minute. Instead it just made him more suspicions. "Are you... sleeping with her again?! Must I really tell you how inappropriate that is, especially right now?"

"Wait a sec," the billionaire held up his hands defensively. "You were the one who made it sound like there should be a 'me and Carol' after this because... I don't know... because of the way your 1945 brain works, but now you're telling me it's inappropriate? Make up your mind."

"You know what I meant," Cap scowled. "You shouldn't be... taking advantage of her."

Tony threw back his head and laughed, which made Steve angry but also gave him the distinct feeling that he was missing something and was somehow being set up. The later was confirmed a few seconds later by Clint.

"Oh for God's sake, Stark," the man rolled his eyes. "Put him out of his misery already."

"You're no fun," Tony complained but turned back to Steve. "Carol and I _are_ sleeping together, but that's it. I mean that's _it_. Just sleeping. No hanky-panky, or whatever you old-timers used to call it back in your days."

"You actually said that with a straight face?" Clint wondered.

He had, mainly because it was true. They've developed a strange sort of rhythm, he and Carol. He went to see his son first thing in the morning and then would get most of the S.I. related work done sometime before noon while Carol was in physical therapy. She complained about the tedium, but the doctors were adamant that it was an important part of the recovery process after all the trauma her body had been through. Their lunches rarely intersect, but sometime in the afternoon both were once again down in NICU.

And yes, they slept together, but only in the literal sense, though Tony would have credited it with at least some of his physical restoration because he was not sure just how much sleep he would have gotten otherwise. Did that mean she had replaced his usual nightcaps and he was just using her? Not that it was anything new for either of them, but... _Wow, maybe Steve's got a point, _he mentally winced._ Sounds like my typical asshole-self._


	15. Chapter 15

He was still thinking about it when he returned to her room around eleven at night. So much so that he was about to make up some pointless lie about having to actually be at home today, but before he could, Tony immediately sensed that something was wrong. Light from the night-time city seeped though the half drawn curtains, illuminating her silhouette. She was curled up on her side, facing the window and away from him.

"He won't eat," she said dimly, and he wondered what she was talking about because he was certain she meant the baby who had been eating fairly well, with only a little more fuss than a typical newborn, for several days now. But something was clearly causing her distress, so when he moved to what he had unconsciously dubbed as his side of the bed, Tony reached out a hand and soothingly rubbed her arm. It was the first intentional physical contact they'd had since before her mission.

"I mean," what little he could see of her face was lined as if her eyes were screwed tightly shut, "I don't have anything to give him. The doctors said something about my recovery time being too long and... my body just decided I was never planing to..."

_So we're talking about... breastfeeding?_ He'd never thought about it before, but then again he was a man and he was Tony Stark, and a lot of little details that other human beings found important slipped through the cracks in his brilliant but machine-oriented mind.

"It's not critical," he assured her. "He'll be fine. Look at me: I was bottle-fed, and it hasn't exactly stunted my intellect."

He'd meant to refer to the fact that his mother died in childbirth, but somehow a whole different kind of bottle suddenly came to mind. _Damn it! Am I ever going to be free of that?_

"I can't give him anything," she sniffed, apparently not hearing him. "It was all supposed to be for him. I thought I'd keep him safe, and I couldn't even do that."

Now Tony was listening very intently. There was a breakthrough coming, he knew. Carol had not spoken to anyone about her time in Canada since they got back, but now he could feel the floodgates rattle. They broke completely when he heard her sob, and it was the last straw for him as well. Tony gathered her into his arms, her back held tightly against his chest, and let her cry until her body was just heaving in dry sobs.

She lay still after that for a long time. So long that he thought she might have fallen asleep, but then she began speaking quietly, probably talking more to herself than to him. Tony had to strain to hear the words.

"I found out about three weeks in. Felt so sick I couldn't even make it to the stakeout point, and it just got worse, so I thought, 'What the hell?'. Peed on a stick just to rule it out, but there it was. Your little farewell present."

Despite himself Tony chuckled into her hair. If she found out three weeks into the mission, it meant the baby was probably conceived sometimes immediately before her departure. He tried not to think about that, or she would have surely felt just how easily distracted he could be.

"And I thought," Carol went on, "I thought, 'Shit happens. I'm going to suck it up, finish the mission, go back to the States, and take care of this like a big girl. No one has to know, and I'll move on with my life.'"

She paused, and Tony could have sworn she was waiting for him to scream at her for ever even considering aborting their son. Like she wanted him to. _Sorry, sweetheart. I'm willing to bet big money you've been beating yourself up over this enough for the both of us. Among other things, apparently._ So instead of yelling, he just hugged her tighter, and after a moment her hand that was resting on his forearm squeezed back in thanks.

"But... the mission kept dragging on, and pretending that everything was fine just kept getting harder and harder, and all of a sudden I had this idea: 'Screw the mission. Screw Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D.. What if I just... run away? Disappeared somewhere, get a new name, a new identity, and be a mom instead of Colonel Carol Danvers, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.?' It was such a stupid fantasy at first, but the thought... it just kept getting bigger and bigger. Like the baby. I swear I felt him growing inside me even then. I know it sounds stupid..."

"It's not stupid," Tony interrupted for the first time. "You felt whatever you felt."

"I was scared," she admitted with a final sob. "I was so scared to just... _abandon_ everything, everyone. To just get up and walk away. I know Cap wants to think there was something more to it. Clint, too, though he probably knows better. They'd like to think there were bad guys involved, some reason why I physically couldn't come back, but there really wasn't. I _chose_ to go AWOL. Fury's right: I'm a coward and a deserter."

"Fury can suck it," there was also finality in Tony's voice. "I don't care what he thinks, and neither should you."

_All I care about is that you didn't tell me._

He was surprised at how much anger there still was in that thought and instantly felt guilty about it. They'd been through this dance. Neither knew how he would have reacted if she had told him immediately, but neither also had no reason to think it would have been a good reaction. Tony wondered if there would come a day when there would not be tension between them about this and many other things.

"He'll be fine," he repeated. Talk about the baby never failed to drive away the demons. "You did what you could. He'll be okay."


	16. Chapter 16

Something was buzzing, and in his half-asleep state, it took Tony a full minute to figure out that it was the cell he'd left in his jacket that was hanging from the hook on the door. It took another minute to come fully awake and recognize that the familiar weight was Carol whose upper body and right arm was partially draped over his chest. She'd been using his own arm for a pillow, and it had fallen asleep.

_Well, this is bound to be interesting_. He'd never experienced an awkward 'morning after' in his life, but it looked like this was going to be it. Which was ridiculous, because there was no actual sex involved. Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _Double-cross that bridge when we come to it_, he thought, absently brushing his fingertips over her upper arm. At the moment, he was just too comfortable.

The phone buzzed again.

_God damn it._ Tony groaned, but began to rise, carefully disentangling himself.

"You need to let go of me, sweetheart," instead of complying, her hand reflexively clenched at his shirt. Clearly, she was still asleep. "Just for a sec, Carol."

She did let go finally – with some reluctance, he noted in amusement – and Tony eased himself out of the bed, walked over to the jacket on the door hanger, and fished the phone from the pocket. By that time two missed calls were flashing on the display, so he checked the number.

His faces fell, and he remembered why he was a cynic:

_If things look good, you're probably missing something._

Tony had managed to forget about something that for him was roughly the size of Gah Lak Tus. Without looking back at the woman still sleeping in the hospital bed, he went out the door muttering a curse.

The time of Tony's quarter-annual checkup usually worked in the following way:

He got up, got dressed, had a drink of scotch or a martini then two or three, went to the doctor's office, through the usual array of tests. Then he drank steadily while he waited for the results, and then, because for the past few years God must have thought he was doing _something_ right, even if he himself did not agree, he drank to celibate the fact that his cancer was still in remission. And then he blissfully passed out.

No matter what else happened, he'd never missed an appointment until yesterday. If it was not for the call, Tony was not sure when he might have remembered.

His oncologist waited for him on the other side of the city around eleven. The Triskelion had an excellent medical facility, of course, perfectly suited for battlefield injuries, but this was something Tony simply did not want to be done under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s nose. In a bizarre way, despite the fact that every aspect of his life had been influenced by the illness, he still felt like he could separate it out somehow. From the S.I., the Ultimates, and now Carol and their son.

"You know the routine by now, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah. Let's just get it over with."

Two hours of scans and blood work later, Tony was buttoning up his shirt. His brain was hard at work on any distraction, which usually included some S.I. project he had yet to finish. In a way it was a survival strategy to keep him from going mad. After all, the doctor was right: he knew the routine by now.

Too well.

The next thing he knew, Tony was at home. There was a glass in his hand, liquor sliding down his throat. It was so much a part of the routine he'd gone through the motions absently and only awoke when he tasted it. Every part of his body demanded more.

"Fuck!"

He screamed in fury. The glass shattered against the his kitchen's marble floor, but there was no way of getting the alcohol out of his system. He could almost feel it spreading, seeping into every cell. The desire weeks denied was back with a vengeance.

Tony sat heavily on a stool, his elbows resting on the counter-top, face buried in his hands.

And to think he'd thought this was going to be a good day.

* * *

Carol was not surprised to find him gone when she awoke. Relieved, because it meant she could successfully avoid any questions he might have had about her story for now, and secretly a little disappointed, but certainly not surprised. Whatever passed between them the night before, she was not about to dwell on it for the rest of the day. Or so she told herself.

"Has Tony been to see him?" she asked the nurse in NICU as the other woman brought over the baby and fresh bottle.

"Not today, no," she shook her head. "We haven't seen Mr. Stark since last evening. Did something happen?"

_Just a lot of pointless drama on my part_. She still couldn't believe she'd spilled her guts to him like that. "No, he'll be by later, I guess."

Her full attention returned to her son, who was suckling the bottle with determination. Every once in a while he would open his eyes and study her before he got tired and closed them again. Maybe it was paranoia, but Carol was sure he did not know her as he did Tony. Well, Tony talked to him a lot about anything and everything. She just tended to hold him, going with the skin contact philosophy that they advocated for preemies. Supposedly he was supposed to be able to recognize her heartbeat when held in the so-called kangaroo care position.

Two-thirds of the small bottle were gone before the infant began to spit up, a sure sign that he was done. _Getting better_, Carol thought. Not that the bottles were much themselves, but he was fed every two and a half hours for a steady supply of nutrition and calories. As usual after being burped and cleaned, the baby went right back to sleep.

"I guess you don't know where your dad is, do you?" she asked, but received only a light snore in response. "Yeah, that's what I thought."


	17. Chapter 17

After the two thirty feeding she went back to her physical therapy. The two pound weight limit the trainer had set seemed a little ridiculous considering that she had easily done fifty reps with twenty a piece, but after the last episode Carol was not about to argue. She'd bite her tongue and pretend to be patient, even if all she wanted was to leave and go...

_Where, exactly_? suddenly flashed in her mind before she pushed the thought away. It would not matter for another three weeks at least. There was no way she was leaving the Triskelion while her son was still there. She trusted Tony – with the baby, at least – and the Ultimates, but she sure as hell didn't trust Fury or anyone else from S.H.I.E.L.D..

Speak of the devil.

Her peripheral vision caught the general striding into the training room, but she pretended not to notice. A folder dropped to the floor a few feet away from her.

"Lotsa fun easy paperwork for you," Fury's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Think you can handle that, _Colonel_?"

"I'll manage, _General_," she spat back.

"Good," he spun on his heel and was out the door. "My regards to Stark."

She might have thrown one of the weights in her hands at his head for the last comment. Fury clearly resented the fact that Tony had basically blackmailed him on her behalf. To be honest, Carol was not thrilled with it either. It meant she avoided prosecution but also that everyone would be talking about it behind her back for the rest of her career. She sighed in annoyance and went back to the exercises.

The peace did not last though. Less than a half hour later she heard the door open and approaching footsteps again. Carol turned, ready to tell Fury exactly what she thought of him, but it was Tony standing only a few feet away, a single piece of paper in his hand.

"If you brought me paperwork too, I might kill you," she warned and nodded at the folder Fury dropped which still lay untouched on the floor.

He did not even look at it. Something was off, Carol realized. Like she could not quite tell what was going on in his mind. This was not particularly atypical, except this time Tony himself looked like he was in a fog. Wordlessly, he turned the paper over to let her see what it was.

The birth certificate.

Carol winced. She'd almost forgotten. Somewhere along the line between getting blown up, her multiple trips to the OR, and wondering if either she or her baby would survive, she'd forgotten about something as standard as the birth certificate. Most of the printed portions had already been filled out and Tony had signed it, but it still lacked her own signature and the most important piece of information: the baby's name.

"Would you mind," he started, sniffed and cleared his throat. "Do you mind if we called him Sam?"

Startled for a moment, Carol looked at him carefully, trying to determine the cause of the drastic change from the past week when he'd generally been in a good and unusually open mood. She put down the weights and rose, deciding that the fastest way to figure it out was to go along with him.

"Okay," she said slowly. "Why? Who's Sam?"

"Someone I knew," Tony said simply. "A remarkable young man."

"Someone who died?" Carol ventured a guess.

He hesitated. "Yes. Someone who should have lived, but didn't. I don't know how you feel about that, so feel free to say 'no'. It's just... just a thought I had..."

"I don't mind the name," she took a step closer. "It's a nice name. I'm just wondering what made you think of whoever this person was now."

He looked like he was considering not saying anything, then finally sighed. "My cancer screening was this morning. So I was just... reminded of my own mortality. With all that's been going on, some things... slipped though the cracks."

That made sense. It also explained his breath which she got a whiff of when he exhaled. Her expression must have showed it, because he scowled.

"It's a hell of a lot better than smelling of chemotherapy drugs, sweetheart."

Her head shot up, and Carol tried to process that. Something about the way he said... everything felt wrong from start to finish.

"Those aren't your words," her voice rose with certainty. "Who..." He pressed his lips in a thin line, and she had her answer.

"Natasha."

Carol did not know whether to be disgusted or feel sorry for him. "Wow," she nodded slowly and crossed her arms. "I'm sympathetic to the fact that you're sick. I'm a lot less sympathetic to your drinking problem, but that's not the point. What I'm definitely _not_ sympathetic to is you projecting that _bitch_ onto me, however shitty you feel. Clear?"

For a moment he looked too stunned to respond, then Tony grinned. "Clear. Actually... that kind of made me feel better, so thanks."

"Happy to give you a kick in the ass anytime," she grinned then nodded in the direction of her discarded weights. "Spot me?"

"Sure."

She lay back on the bench behind her and began the exercise of raising her hands back and forth in an arch. Every once in a while she felt him correcting her movements or giving her a little extra push. Less then ten reps in and already her arms were burning.

"This," Carol huffed through another rep, "is really... pathetic."

"Pathetic's been me all day today," he corrected. "So you're in good company."

"Your... 'cheering up' tack tick sucks... Stark," she glared up at him. "After this... we can go see Sam. How's that for incentive?"

He grinned. "You're really okay with it?"

"Sure. Classic and simple, and it means a lot to you."

"Thanks," he nodded. "Really. I... appreciate it. You can take the certificate down to them when you go see him to make it official."

Carol began to smile to until his words sank in. "When _I_ go see him? Where are _you_ going?"

"Office. Get some work done since I pretty much wasted all day feeling sorry for myself. Novel, I know," he tried to joke, but she clearly was not buying it. "I want to be with him, Carol. I just... I promised myself I wouldn't when I drank, and... well, you know I did today."

The comment took her by surprise. He was actually acknowledging that it was an issue? Carol tried not to feel too hopeful, but it was hard not to think that at least that was a step in the right direction. She wanted to ask if this meant he was going to quit for good. She wanted to tell him she thought he was doing the right thing, that he was being brave, and that she was proud of him. Instead, she finished the last rep, rose, and wiped her face on the towel discarded on the bench.

"Okay," Carol said. "I'll be there right after a shower. Go back to running the free world."


	18. Chapter 18

"I want the figures in my hand tomorrow morning," Tony briskly walked to his office a few days later, his assistant close on his heels. "All the usual S.I. updates and the ones from my personal project. Reschedule the dinner with the governor for Thursday, and call the Chicago office and find out what's going on with them. Oh, and please have this," he handed the red haired woman a piece of paper, "delivered to Colonel Danvers by five today."

His assistant glanced at the paper and raised an elegant brow but simply nodded and went to run the errands. Tony pushed through the massive doors, crossed the expanse of the office, and slouched in the chair in front of his desk. He drummed his fingers on the armrest for a second before leaning forward to sort through the pile of papers including mail that had been delivered in his absence. _Nothing fascinating_, he thought until his hands fell on a large yellow envelope and he read the address in the center.

_Shit._ He took a slow calming breath. _I'm not going to do this now. Just tonight let me pretend it didn't come in yet and it's not making me want to drink myself into oblivion again._

He tapped the envelope against the side of the desk, then tossed it back atop. Leaving it behind, Tony got up and threw open the doors of one of the wall closets revealing several freshly pressed and very expensive tuxedos. Well, the only other way he knew to get over feeling sorry for himself usually involved a good time with a beautiful woman. Lucky for him, that was exactly what was on the agenda for tonight.

Maybe he should have informed said beautiful woman of that plan beforehand. The reservations were for seven, but when he arrived in her room at six, Carol looked nowhere near ready. Actually she looked more than a bit miffed as she thrust the evening dress at him.

"I don't know if I should be impressed or annoyed that you perfectly guessed my size."

"I always prefer 'impressed'," he brushed imagery dust from his tux. "But why so surprised? In case you forgot, I've had plenty of opportunities to become intimately acquainted with..."

"That was months ago. _Before_ I was pregnant."

He just shrugged. "So I have a good eye. Sue me. Just do it after dinner. I'm starving."

She hesitated, glancing out the door momentarily. "I'm not comfortable leaving Sam in the Triskelion while I'm not here."

"I know," he said sympathetically. "But Fury knows that messing with him mean taking on S.I. and all of the Ultimates. And just in case you're paranoid – because I am, too –, Steve's gonna hang out here tonight. You need to get out for a while, and I'm sure you're sick of eating hospital food."

Carol hated to admit it, he was right. It was the first time she felt like herself in months. She'd always been a practical woman – once again largely thanks to the military mindset – and fancy dresses and restaurants were never high on her list of priorities, but it was unbelievable nice to be out again. The dress was elegant and in perfect taste, and the restaurant's dimly lit interior gorgeous.

The waiter arrived with water and took their orders – Tony declined the wine list, she noted with a measure of pride – and Carol returned to admiring the setting. The decor on and around the dance floor was light and modern, and parts of the evening city could be seen through the large glass doors that lead onto the balcony. That too had improved a great deal after the massive cleanup and renovations.

"So what's the plan when you're both discharged for good?" Tony took a sip of his water.

Carol pulled back from the view and shook her head, uncertain. "I'm on medical and maternity leave for now, but after that I think I'm going to ask to be transferred to something that doesn't involve S.H.I.E.L.D.. At least then I don't have to see Fury's dirty looks on a daily basis. I don't know. Maybe I'll go back to the Air Force."

"Why not ditch the military all together?" he wondered.

She looked perplexed at the question. "It's... I've been there since I finished school. They've always been a part of my life."

"Yeah, the part that was willing to toss you under a bus."

"That was Fury," she replied reasonably. "He and I never got along, so no surprise there."

"But you did something else for what? six months after you..." he did not want to say 'abandoned your assignment.' Not aloud. She seemed to understand though and apparently was not offended. Actually she smiled.

"Journalism," Carol told him. "I was Catherine Donovan, editor of one of the most exclusive magazines up in Canada for five months."

"Editor," Stark was well familiar with the press and other forms of media, but for some reason he would have never pegged her as a writer. "Is it wrong that I suddenly got a 'naughty librarian' image of you in my head?"

Carol gave him a look.

"Too soon?" Tony ventured a guess.

"Way too soon."

"Okay, I'll wait. I've learned to be very patient in the last few weeks."

"Did I say something that makes you think it'll ever _not_ be too soon, Stark?" she pretended to glare, but it was just such a typical thing for him to say she could not even summon annoyance.

"No," he shrugged. "But I've been pretty optimistic lately too."

Carol rolled her eyes. There really was no reason to read anything into it. Just Tony being Tony, but it was hard to ignore all the changes that he'd gone through as well. They were both very different people than seven months ago. That part was kind of scary.

The food arrived then, and their conversation returned to the safe and superficial. Carol even relaxed enough to tell him a little of her time in Canada, what her work was like, and some of the people she'd met. Tony listened with genuine interest, commenting once in a while.

"I have a thought," he declared finally, "and before you say 'no' keep in mind that I _am_ one of the smartest people on the planet."

"But not _the_ smartest?" she mocked shock. "Wow, Stark. How did your ego ever survive admitting that?"

"Haha," he said dryly. "Seriously, though. I think you should forget about the military and come work with us."

"At S.I.?!" she sounded indignant and almost added 'in your dreams'.

"No, no," Tony shook his head. "With the Ultimates."

Now Carol was just confused. "What?"

"Just hear me out," he raised a hand. "I meant to bring this up later, but now's as good a time as any. Construction is almost complete on a brand new mansion where my old one used to be. I took a look at my accounts, did the math, and I'm fairly sure my finances are stable enough to take the team back from under government control. I want the Ultimates to be completely autonomous again, and I want you to be a part of that."

"Have you been drinking again?" she scowled. "With what great metapowers am I supposed to contribute?"

"I don't have metapowers," he countered and added. "Despite what people say about my intellect and dashing good looks."

"You have your suits," Carol pointed out. "And before you ask, no, I don't want one. I'm not Natasha."

It was his turn for selective hearing. "I wasn't going to offer you one. Actually I was thinking more along the lines of intel. When you were in charge of S.H.I.E.L.D. most of that came from you anyway, so it'll be just like having your old job back, right? Just better company and _much_ better work benefits."

"You do realize," she ignored his grin and wagging brows, "that most of my contacts were either through or within S.H.I.E.L.D.."

"Details," Tony waved his hand dismissively. "You've worked with them for a long time so you can get something out of them if need be. You're smart and resourceful, and you've dealt with us before so you know how we operate too. Plus, as much as I adore the 'naughty librarian' image, I think you'd get pretty board with that. Not nearly enough action."

"Do you have to turn everything into an innuendo?"

"Yes, but that's not the point. What do you say?"

Carol looked directly at him as if she was trying to judge how serious he was, but Stark never wavered. Finally she sighed and rubbed the back of her neck.

"I don't know, Tony. I have to think about it."

"Fair enough," he nodded, then pressed his lips into a tight line as if he was thinking of adding something else. "And, not that this is related to the Ultimates, but it won't be so terrible to have you and Sam at the mansion. Just saying."

"Real subtle, Tony," she accused but teasingly.

"I wasn't trying to be subtle," in fact he sounded absolutely serious. Far too serious for comfor.


	19. Chapter 19

It was still very much in character when he got up and, ignoring her protests, pulled her to the dance floor. _Just dancing_, she told herself. _You've been sleeping in the same bed for almost two weeks now, and you're worried about a little dance?_ She could not even claim that it bothered her that he was being mysterious, because he really was not. More and more, Carol had a good idea where this evening was headed, and she strongly doubted she really wanted to go there now. Or ever.

His left hand, where her right had fallen as they positioned themselves on the dance floor amid the few other couples there, was calloused. Funny how she had not noticed that before. People tended to think of Tony as a spoiled brat who had everything from his intelligence to his looks handed to him on a silver platter. But despite the long days at the office, his hands had the seasoned strength of someone who constantly had tools passing through them.

He must have caught her staring.

"Do you know why I stopped drinking?" he asked, the corner of his mouth curving slightly.

"For Sam?" she remembered him saying something to that effect a few days before.

"For Sam," Tony agreed. "Because when we were all flying back from Canada, Clint had him and he really looked like he knew what he was doing. I couldn't even wrap my brain around the idea of holding a baby. And then Steve told me to go see him, and all I could think was that the first thing my kid was going to feel was my hands shaking because I drank too much."

It was one of the most open and honest things she had ever heard from him. Carol did not know what to say. They made another turn around the floor, unconsciously edging a bit closer. She could feel his warm breath on her temple.

"I don't know if you're ever going to tell him any of this," she said finally. "I'll respect whatever you decide in this case, but if you do, he'll be very proud of you."

_He'll know._ _I'll tell him every day that he saved my life, _he thought back to the file on the desk at his office. _Just hope I live long enough to make sure he understands that._

"What about you?" he prompted instead. "Are you proud of me?"

_Yes_, Carol thought but closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, there was a sadness.

"Please, don't," her voice was quiet. "Don't pretend like everything's back to the way it was. It's been... good to be able to talk to you again. We didn't do enough of that last time, and maybe we should have, but you know it never works out between us."

"What are you talking about?" Tony pulled back a little, an apparently genuine frown on his face. "You're probably the longest, _sanest_ relationship I've ever had."

"Great sex doesn't make a relationship, despite what you might think. We were... convenient to each other. Don't look so hurt; you know it's true, and I can't go back to that. It's not fair to either of us, and it's especially not fair to Sam."

"Okay, a) great sex doesn't hurt and b) yeah, you're right," he admitted. "I told Cap as much when he asked, but I don't want to go back to just that either. I don't see why it can't work between us for real."

She sighed. "I know you're trying out this whole optimism thing, but please, be realistic. We have enough issues to keep all the shrinks in the country happily employed till retirement."

"Who doesn't these days?"

"Not like us. I'm not stupid, Tony. I know you're still pissed off about me running. I don't know when or if you're ever going to honestly forgive me."

"I do honestly forgive you," he interrupted. "I'm mad because I wish things had gone differently, but that's a pointless exercise. You're okay, and Sam's gonna be okay. Happy endings are scarce in our line of work, but that's as much of a happy ending as I need. That doesn't mean I can't try to improve it a little," he added.

"It's not that simple," she went on. "Even if I thought you didn't resent me, our histories... they just don't work, okay? You have trust issues with women – which, obviously, I didn't help with – and I don't want you to look at me wondering when I'm going to stab you in the back. I know my problems, but I don't want to be responsible for Natasha's or Justine's or anyone else's."

_If I were to name a third person in our relationship, Natasha would be at the very bottom of the list_. But he could not deny that at least some of what she was saying was true.

"So I'll work on that," he promised and pulled her closer. "And you can work on _not_ running in the opposite direction of something that might actually be really good."

Carol pushed against him lightly and took a step back, pulling out of his embrace. She flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder and all but crossed her arms defensively. He could not tell if the look she gave him was suspicions or confused or condemning.

"Why do you even want to try?" she demanded harshly. "What changed from eight months ago? Don't tell me it's because we have a baby together; neither of us is that old-fashioned."

He thought about that for a moment. Why did he want to try? Why, after countless of nameless women, after several painful – emotionally and physically – failed relationships, after her own betrayal, no matter how justifiable, did he still want to try?

"Come back to to my office and I'll show you," he took her hand, then saw her flinch. "I'm not trying to seduce you two weeks after major surgery. Try think a little better of me than that."

* * *

The section of the Triskelion that belonged to Stark was almost completely empty as they made their way to his office. Carol was still apprehensive as the doors closed behind her and only some of the lights came on, illuminating nothing but the area around his desk. There was a lot of paper and bits of machinery in and around it, but Tony picked up one particularly large envelope and wordlessly handed it to her.

"What's this?" she frowned, examining the item. It felt quite heavy.

He simply shrugged and leaned against his desk. "I don't know. As you can see, it's still sealed. Open it and we'll both find out."

She did, still wary, and pulled out several stacks of papers and sheets that were definitely medical scans. Carol did not understand what she was seeing on those, so she began to read the reports. When she realized what she was holding, she looked up at Tony and opened her mouth to tell him to take it back, that he should see it first. The man shook his head.

"Finish, then tell me."

So she did. They stood facing each other for a long time, Carol carefully reading the report, and Tony waiting for her. Finally she breathed a sigh of relief, releasing air she had not realized she was even holding. She looked up at him and smiled.

"You're okay, Tony. The tumor... it hasn't spread or grown since your last checkup. Your doctor says the cancer is still in remission."

"Good," he nodded but did not look revealed, merely accepting. "That's good."

"It's great!" she tossed the papers back on the desk and suddenly, without thinking, leaned over to hug him, momentarily forgetting the earlier discomfort.

His arms came to encircle her, hugging her tighter to him. He might have been putting on a brave face, but this close Carol could _feel_ his relief. She knew he had been just waiting for the bad news since the tests a few days ago. She and their son had survived, and somehow Tony had been thinking that all the good luck had just been... used up, that another extension to his own life was something he felt he simply did not deserve anymore.

"Thanks," he smiled a little, but it still felt odd. She had not expected such a reserved reaction.

Carol pulled back slightly and gave him an odd look. "Why did you want me to see it first?"

"Because," Tony said seriously, refusing to let go of her body or her gaze, "you were honest with me that night a few days ago, so I'll be honest, too: I have no idea what I'm doing. The cancer used to be the scariest thing in my life, but I could pretend I knew how to deal with it. Figured I didn't have long enough for anyone to notice otherwise. Now, for the first time, I feel like I'm just putting one foot in front of the other and seeing where that gets me. I'm not going to pretend that all this didn't hurt, because it did, in some ways worse than anything else. I finally understood Steve and Clint and what they've lost. They're much stronger men than I am, because I don't think I could have survived loosing my kid. Forget drinking: I would have probably put a bullet in my skull."

"Don't say that," Carol looked unnerved.

"Sorry. I know that sounds dramatic. What I'm trying to say is, I understand why you ran. We have a shitty track record with kids around here, but I will absolutely protect him with everything I've got, with my life. You were doing the same thing in the way you thought best at the time."

"Obviously I was wrong," she could not bring herself to meet his eyes.

"It doesn't matter," Tony shook his head. "You've been straight with me this whole time, about your reasons, about everything, and it's refreshing. Actually you've always been that way, haven't you? Canada notwithstanding, I've always thought of you as too straight-forward to lie."

She chuckled. "No wonder I didn't last as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.."

He laughed a little as well, stroking her cheek. "You asked me why I want to try. Because we should have been trying from the beginning. _I_ should have been trying. You're absolutely right: I've made you answer for other women's mistakes, made it _only_ about sex because I didn't think I could ever trust again. But I think I _can_ trust you now. Can't I?"

"Yes," her voice was a little unsteady as she said it. "You can trust me."

The next thing she knew he was cupping her face and kissing her with all the latent passion and desire reignited over the past few weeks. His beard and mustache tickled her skin, but it was a pleasant, familiar sensation. Her heart was pounding, Carol realized, but all the apprehensiveness and fear from before was gone. She closed her eyes and savored the taste of him. It felt perfect, so very right to touch this way again.

Some moments later, breathless, she pulled away, her hands coming to rest on his wrists to keep at least an inch of distance between them. Tony was grinning, clearly extremely satisfied, but the look she gave him was very serious.

"Trusting me isn't the same thing as expecting me to put up with all your bullshit. Because I won't, Tony. I won't put up with the drinking or any other way you decide to try to kill yourself. And I _especially_ won't put up with other women, past or otherwise."

"I'm not going to try to kill myself," he promised, still grinning. "Enough things are trying to kill me at any one time that I decided I'm not going to help. And why would I want other women when I'm going to have a hot blond in my bed?" she pretend to role her eyes at that. His face turned serious as well. "The other stuff... I'm not gonna lie: other stuff is gonna be hard, but I swear I'll try. I'm still taking everything a day at a time. Just... stick with me for a bit, okay?"

A beat, then, "Okay."


	20. Chapter 20

_**Author's Note: **_Last chapter! I hope you've enjoyed the story ^__^

_Thirteen Months Later,_

Unsurprisingly, Tony's favorite place in the new mansion – as in the old one – was the garage. To every other person who set foot in it, the place looked like complete chaos, various bits of machinery scattered here and there, Iron Man suits and other prototypes hanging from hooks and pulleys on the walls and from the ceiling. But it was his sanctuary, the place where his most important work got done.

Currently he was hunched over the engine of his Lamborghini Revento. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with the 1.6 million dollar car except that it was brand new and thus has not yet passed through Tony's hands and acquired all the custom improvements. He was practically giddy at the thought; there was oh, so much to play with. He briefly wondered about the benefits of replacing the regular thrusters with something that utilized repulsor technology, but before he could seriously consider it, a loud crash as something tumbled from a near by table broke his concentration. Tony looked up so fast he nearly hit his head on the hood.

"Oh, my god," his eyes went wide, the car completely forgotten.

Sam, just over a year old, stood in his overalls in front of the spilled pile of screws. Tony had no idea how he managed to get down to the garage much less reach the box on the table which stood several inches above his reach, but as soon as the items were on the floor, he waisted no time bending over and scooping up a handful.

"No!" his father lunged for him and scooping up the toddler gently pried the screws out of his palm before he could stick the metal into his mouth. Sam gave a loud, dissatisfied yelp.

"Not food," Tony said sternly. "How'd you get down here, anyway? You've been climbing out of your play pen again, huh?"

Sam blinked his long dark lashes and gave his father a look of utter innocence, but he was not fooled. One year old or not, there were some things Sam knew by now. Daddy's garage was off limits, which, of course, made it all the more attractive of a target. Tony sighed, once again sympathizing with his own father had also had the distinct pleasure of raising a very intelligent child who often put that intellect to less than noble presutes. He pushed his son's dark locks out of his face and kissed his temple.

"Guess we need to keep a better eye on you, kiddo. You should probably finish your nap," the boy protested, pushing at him a little. "Okay," Tony relented, "you drive a hard bargain. How about we go get a snack instead. Sound good?"

Sam smacked his lips happily.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Tony began for the elevator, bouncing the toddler in his arms. "Let's not tell mom about this when she gets back, okay?"

But no sooner did he settle the boy into the high chair and turn around to retrieve the jar of peaches, than the front door open. He glanced over at Sam. "Say nothing. Act natural."

A few moments later, Carol strode into the kitchen. The toddler instantly reached up to her with several excited babbles of, "Mama!"

"Hey, big man," she smiled and lifted him from the high chair. "Shouldn't you be napping?"

"Nap time was postponed in favor of snack time," Tony knew the question was really directed at him. Better admit a partial truth than let her know that Sam had not only escaped from his pen but made it all the way down to the garage.

"Aren't we lucky?" she nuzzled the boy's cheek, then paused. "Tony," he knew that tone. Like the soft breeze before a thunderstorm. "Why does my formerly-freshly bathed baby smell like motor oil?"

The billionaire opened his mouth to protest, then saw the unmistakable black streak across the side of the toddler's forehead. Sam giggled as if to say, "Busted, Dad."

"Honestly, I don't know how he does that," he defended himself. "Maybe we should go for triple-max security on that play pen." She continued to look at him without saying anything. "Then again maybe someone should spend less time in the garage. I get the hint."

"I love how you can have this conversation all by yourself," Carol laughed taking the jar from him and fishing out a baby spoon from the utensil drawer.

"I'm amazing like that. How was your day?"

"Entertaining," she settled in front of the high chair and scooped out a spoon-full of diced peaches offering it to the toddler. Sam happily complied.

"Entertaining?" Tony raised a brow and crossing his arms, leaned against the counter. "I thought you went to that Air Force base in upstate New York."

"Oh, I did. I'll tell you all about it when the others get back. It's just too good of a story. When are they coming, by the way?"

"'Round seven," he glanced at the wall clock and a mischievous grin lit up his face. "If Sam would be so kind as to finish his snack and take a n-a-p," he gave his son a meaningful look, "we have plenty of time for a... not!n-a-p."

She was still laughing. "Should I be seduced by that?"

"Preferably soon. I hate to rush."

Sam chose that moment to slap his hands against the plastic table nicking the jar that Carol had momentarily sat down and sending the contents spilling everywhere. Tony sighed and went to retrieve paper towels while she pulled the grinning and very messy toddler out of the high chair. He did not look like he was too upset about the lost snack.

"And this," his mother said pointedly, "is why we don't try to _improve_ on the baby's schedule: just because he'll do anything not to have to sleep, doesn't mean he's actually hungry."

Carol thought it was the funniest thing in the world: earth's mightiest heroes going soft over a year old baby. Currently Sam was bouncing in Steve's lap pointing curiously at the star on the captain's chest. Val sat next to him, letting the baby's free hand curl around her finger and cooing at him affectionately.

"That's really amazing," Cap was saying. "Like looking in the mirror, right, Tony?"

"Only when he sleeps," the billionaire unscrewed the cap from his bottle of water. "I was never this wild."

"South side club," Carol reminded him ominously.

"That's what you remember?" he looked genuinely surprised. "Trust me, sweetheart, there were much worse incidents. When I used to drink..."

"Yes, Tony?" her voice was sugary sweet, daring him to continue.

He cleared his throat. "Well, I used to drink."

"Your trip," Clint reminded everyone of the more practical pint of the gathering, "what did the military want?"

"Right," she gathered herself. "Well, the Air Force called and said they had a new super-sonic stealth jet for me to see. Said I'm still one of their best pilots and asked if I might consider running a test flight for them."

"That sounds suspicions already," Steve frowned. "Why does that sound suspicions?"

"Because she lives here," Tony explained. "They've gotta know that if there's any new piece of tech, jet or otherwise, I'd have it first. They can't possibly have anything she hasn't already seen here."

"Self-assured as always, but he's right," the woman nodded. "I went just for the hell of it, and a million dollars says you'll never guess who just _happened_ to be there, too."

A beat, then, "Our old friend, Nick Fury," Tony declared. Carol grinned confirmation. "Hurray, I'm rich."

"So the question isn't what the military wants, but what Fury wants," Clint rephrased.

"Yeah, and get this: he asked me to come back to S.H.I.E.L.D.."

No one laughed. Tony looked slightly horrified. Clearly he did not think this was as funny as she'd implied earlier.

"You're not, though," the Valkyrie asked carefully, "are you?"

"No," Carol assured the girl. "It's ridiculous. They want me to act as _liaison_ to the Ultimates."

"Meaning they want her to spy on us," the marksman clarified and turned a frowning face to Carol. "What exactly did you tell him?"

"I said that if S.H.I.E.L.D. ever had intelligence for the you, I'd be happy to pass it along," she shrugged, "but that it would be a one-way street. You're in no way obligated to share anything with them. But just between us, I'd be careful with any intel Fury chooses to hand out. It could he the Red Skull fiasco all over again. I'm sorry, Steve."

The captain swallowed hard. "Don't apologize for him. That wasn't your fault."

There was a long silence, broken only by the toddler who began to fuss, sensing the tension in the room. Steve handed him back to his father who rose, rubbing his son's back soothingly.

"Be back in a sec," he said. "He skipped his nap today so he's more fussy than usual."

Later, with the baby monitor at his belt pleasantly silent and Carol quietly talking to Clint about S.H.I.E.L.D. and intelligence, Tony approached Steve.

"She wasn't apologizing for Fury, you know," he said quietly. "She just... sorry she was ever part of the same group that did this to you and Gail, no matter how long ago that was. We've both gained a lot of... perspective in the last year. Sometimes I still can't believe how good I have it."

Steve forced a smile. "I'm sorry if it doesn't always show, but I _am_ happy for you, my friend. We all are."

"Thanks. Really. I appreciate it."

"Always. You're alright, then? You and she?"

"All things considered, I'm pleasantly surprised she's put up with me this long," the billionaire quipped, "but yeah, we're good."

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the others go on with their conversations. Finally Steve spoke again.

"I know you're going to call me old-fashioned and tell me to stop thinking in 1945 terms..."

"But why don't I make an 'honest' woman out of her?" Tony supplied, bemused.

"Well, since you brought it up, something like that."

"Seriously? Okay, watch: Carol," his voice carried over to the other side of the room.

"Yes?" she turned cautiously, feeling all other eyes suddenly on her.

"You love me, right?"

"Most of the time," one blond brow went up. "Depends how much you get on my nerves."

"Close enough. Will you marry me?"

Carol opened her mouth, took a dramatically long breath, then, "No," and returned to her conversation with Clint as if he'd just asked if she wanted to go out or order in for dinner.

Tony turned back to Steve and shrugged. "See? I tried."

The captain gave him a weary look. "Maybe you should try just a little harder next time?"

It was much later that Tony found himself steeling away from the gathering to go check on Sam. Unsurprising, the baby was still fast asleep, snuggled up to the plush replica of Captain America's shield that served as his pillow. A light projector sprinkled a field of slowly rotating stars onto the ceiling, and a play list of kid-friendly music could faintly be heard. Currently it was playing the pop version of the theme song from Disney's _Hercules_. Something about a hero's strength being measured by his heart, Tony remembered. Cheesy, but the lyrics made him smile.

He knelt by the crib, marveling at how much had changed since the first time he'd seen him like this. For once, everything had turned out alright. Tony did not know what deity he had to thank for that, but he was incredibly grateful.

"Maybe I should be thanking you," he asked Sam softly. "You saved my life, you know that?"

The toddler sniffed, but did not wake up. Tony smiled. He did not like to contemplate on it, but on the slim chance there was an afterlife, he hoped he'd finally given his own father something to look down on and be proud.


End file.
